Spider-Man 2099: Harbinger
by Phanfan925
Summary: Miguel O'Hara is a brilliant geneticist and one of Alchemax's best minds, but when an experiment to recreate the powers of the renowned Spider-Man goes awry, O'Hara finds himself an enemy of his employer and the state. Spider-Man has been reborn in the year 2099, and Alchemax is determined to have him for their own purposes. (COMIC RETELLING)
1. Prologue

**Summary: Miguel O'Hara is a brilliant geneticist and one of Alchemax's best minds, but when an experiment to recreate the powers of the renowned Spider-Man goes awry, O'Hara finds himself an enemy of his employer and the state. Spider-Man has been reborn in the year 2099, and Alchemax is determined to have him for their own purposes.  
**

 **A novelization and retelling of the original Spider-Man 2099 comics from 1992, written by Peter David and published by Marvel! A lot of the dialogue/description will be near identical to the original comic, especially in these first few chapters/issues, so I encourage you to check out the comic because it's way better than anything I could churn up haha, unless you want to avoid spoilers. However, further down the line I will be making many changes and omitting/adding material, so don't expect this to be a straight adaption.  
**

 **Rating: T (for explicit language, violence, fictional drug use, and references to sex)**

 **Hopefully this generates some interest because honestly SM 2099 is honestly one of my favourite comics of all time. Also I use a lot of Canadian spellings/British spellings as a heads up.  
**

* * *

 **Prologue:**

* * *

 **Nueva York...  
**

 **In the year 2099...**

Many things have changed.

There was once a golden age of heroes. Norse Gods and Men of Iron and a man who could swing on spider silk were but some of the wonders that graced that world. New York City was a haven for such exceptional individuals, legends now known to be taken for granted. The time of superheroes ended unceremoniously, inexplicably, and without warning, and now it is an age of _new_ heroes for the masses to rely on.

Stark-Fujikawa, Green Globe, Horizon, Paragon Products, Chimera Corp, Roxxon, Synthia, and the greatest of all, Alchemax, to name a few. After the Disaster and the disappearances, these collective bodies thrived. In the sprawling metropolis that once housed so many superheroes, Alchemax reigns, stretching its hand across the entire eastern seaboard. To the west, its greatest rival, Stark-Fukijawa is kept at bay.

Over the decay of the old New York rose the towering monuments of the new world. Skyscrapers touched the sky and those who could afford the luxury of their heights prospered, leaving the rotting remnants of the poverty-stricken downtown behind. Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying goes.

It is the time of the corporations, and they dominate all spheres of public and private life. Money is the mediating force. Like the superheroes of old, Alchemax will protect you, for a price. The Public Eye flyboys of uptown and the watchdog police of downtown operate on the same policy as any insurance company. Regular payments guarantee their intervention on your behalf, but otherwise, it is a world where one must fend for oneself, and be his or her own superhero.

Money has moved beyond base, physical bills, paper cheques, or even hand-held cards. Credit ID implants, colloquially known as "cards" broadcast the status of each person. Aluminum cards, gold cards, platinum cards, and black cards each carry benefits on the totem pole of society. With enough funds, the possession of a black card guarantees immunity from the law itself. Without sufficient funds, there is the status of _decred_ , which blocks undesirables from certain shopping areas, parks, and even medical centres.

Many things may have changed, but on the other hand, there are _some_ things that remain depressingly the _same_...

* * *

 **/**

* * *

"We're gonna get _caught_."

"We're _not_ gonna get caught."

Above the high-rises and mega malls soared a single, red convertible, technically restricted at this section of city. Inside, five sportive teenagers lounged on their leather seats, jesting and enjoying each others' company. Many feet below them wandered pedestrians going about their daily routine, shopping and returning from work. At this height they were like ants. Numerous lights flickered on in a seamless transition as night settled over the unsleeping city. To the side the teenagers passed the large, moving billboards for some sort of advertisement or another, all digital of course. For a moment the headlines of a local, non-Alchemax owned newsgroup filled a board. It read: _ALCHEMAX MYSTERY EXPLOSION_ , then, _SPONSORED BY COKE_.

"I'm telling ya," the young driver interjected on behalf of his friend, scoffing. He was a red-head, pleased as a preening peacock to have his girlfriend with him for a night of fun on the town. His other passengers consisted of a second pair of boyfriend-girlfriend, and his friend's tag-along younger brother, a year their minor. "The flyboys _never_ come up this high. They don't like the crosswinds. Just a buncha stoneless-"

"HEY!" It was the younger brother that interrupted him, stretching up in his seat and straining to point at something in the sky. "What the shock is that?!"

The rest of them turned in their seats to see what the fuss is about, and were rendered speechless. Whilst the driver was thus distracted, the hovering car swerved, nearly hitting a hotel. Impossibly, the silhouette of a man passed overheard, casting a shadow over the awe-stricken teenagers. Tailing him closely were at least three Public Eye officers, riding their signature airbikes and yelling amongst themselves like chickens with their heads cut off. In his surprise, one kid leaned so far out of the side of the vehicle that he nearly fell.

The man was just shy of six feet, wearing an outfit that was outlandish even by modern standards. It was dark, nearly black, and in the lights of the pursuing flyboys' cycles seemed to acquire a vibrant blue sheen. On his chest was a bright red logo, spider-like, but stylized as some sort of skull with leg-like protrusions. The top sides of the logo looped over his shoulders and down to his arms and the back of his hands like a ribbon of red. The visage of some sort of red mask design stared out of the material on the front of his head, like an angry, arachnid-esque face ready to pounce. From his back hung a fibrous fabric that fluttered behind him like silk. Dual pairs of spike-like protrusions were on the upper red area of his arms, and past that, the points of each finger seemed sharp, almost claw-like. Beneath the suit he was well built, body like a coil of tensed muscles about to spring. He was not flying, exactly, so much as jumping, which made it all the more impressive that he was evading the flyboys with seeming ease. No one escaped the Public Eye.

The nearest flyboy bellowed, "HALT!", but the mysterious man paid him no heed. "As authorized representatives of the Public Eye, we're ordering you to halt!" he continued, as though that would help.

Approaching fast from the rear, the third flyboy snapped, "Get those idiot kids out of the way!"

"You brats in the Whisper 3000 - vacate this area immediately!" His partner in the second closest flier was quick to take up the task, cutting across the teens in order to follow his quarry. "All such vehicles are forbidden in the inner city! Your registration has been noted! Return home at once, where your vehicle will be confiscated! _MOVE!_ " he added almost as an afterthought. He was never one to neglect an opportunity to flex his civil power. The teenagers quickly vacated the scene, disappointment in every crease of their youthful faces at losing what was sure to be one hell of a show.

"This is your final warning! Surrender instantly or we will use deadly force!" screamed the first flyboy in an attempt at intimidation. The superhuman did not know that they were under orders to bring him alive to Alchemax, but then, he didn't _need_ to know. Besides, while the Public Eye was technically subservient to their larger, father-company, they were known to rebel when excess brutality suited them, and these three flyboys were no exception.

Second flyboy swore when the man they were chasing landed on the hotel building and kicked off in a backflip. He was but a black-blue blur that filled his vision for a moment before disappearing above them. In a time without metahumans, seeing one up close was truly something to behold, and an experience that many would treasure. In the surviving videos from the heroic age, the fights between heroes and their adversaries had almost been a sort of performance, a ballet, even, in the case of the more agile ones; this person was no exception. There was a beauty to his movements, a sort of deadly grace that terrified and inspired.

"What the blazes-! How does he move that fast?!"

Regaining his composure, flyboy #1 barked back, "We're here to _arrest_ him not _admire_ him. He went between those buildings. Malik, with me. The rest of you, cut him off from the other side!"

A fourth flyboy joined them and paired off with #2. Flyboy #3, named Malik, cautiously charged into the shade cast by the adjacent buildings. Unnecessarily, his comrade began to advice him in a quiet, commanding voice, "Okay, Malik. Proceed with caution. Alchemax wants him alive if at all possible."

"I bet they do, Sarge," spat Malik bitterly, "And I want _me_ alive if at all possible." _But I'm sure they don't give a shit about_ **that**. He wisely left that last part unspoken. Alchemax was their boss, after all.

"Can the jokes, Malik," said Sarge sternly. As usual he kept his voice low, not wanting to alert the skittish superhuman to their presence, or at the very least wanting to avoid frightening him into fight-or-flight mode. "Watch the drafts, they're real _nasty_ up here. Now, where did he-?"

 **"Sarge! Above you!"**

Malik's eyes had caught the man first, and his mouth screamed out the warning as a gut reaction. _He_ was perched above them, unmoving, his hands splayed out flat behind him for support. The fugitive visibly tensed as the flyboys' focus fell on him, their searchlights nearly blinding him.

Activating his communicator and tracking beacon, Sarge didn't waste a second to broadcast their success to their compatriots. "Target acquired! All units, converge on my signal!"

Like some sort of insect, the man scampered away with long strides that made use of all four of his limbs. Malik struggled to keep the high beams of his cycle on him as he moved.

"There he goes! On my mark and... FIRE!"

 _ **CHOOM CHOOM CHOOM**_

Stun bolts cut through the air, hitting everything but their intended target. The man leaned forward, continuing to crawl-run horizontally across the wall. One bolt nearly brushed across his back, but came up short.

"Those were warning shots!" said Malik, only half-lying. "Don't make us _hurt_ you!"

The man turned his head sharply took them, and Malik felt a chill run down his spine. Somehow, he realized that their prey was tired of running. All creatures, when forced into a corner, eventually stood and fought. The man let go of the wall, his fall shortening the distance from Malik to a mere foot away. In his imagination, Malik fancied that he could feel the man's breath, but it was really the wind rushing past.

"Swing around! Malik, bring it _around_!"

Malik nearly squealed, but to his surprise the man just kept falling. His body was straight as an arrow and picking up speed rapidly. Malik couldn't stop staring, aghast.

"What's he _doing_?! He's in freefall! He'll kill himself!" he said, then paused. _Maybe that's his goal_ , Malik realized to himself. He might have misjudged the man's intentions. Just because he was finished with running, that didn't mean that he was about to turn violent again. _Good riddance_ , he thought, trying to convince himself that he was sincere. Instead, he just felt sort of... sad. It was like seeing a dumb, beautiful animal run into a road.

Sarge, being the more experienced of the pair and the one who'd been chasing this particular target the longest out of their entire group, came to a different conclusion.

"He's not killing himself, you idiot! Once he's dropped out of range he'll break his fall with those webbed airfoils of his. Puglisi! Estavez! Come in! Are any of you on him?"

The man flinched once more as a cycle roared towards him in answer to Sarge's question. Estavez's lips curled under his helmet, teeth bared almost bloodthirstily. There was no dodging now, not when in the middle of a free fall so fast that it was barely controlled.

"This is Estavez, Sarge! Target acquired! He's trying to change course, but I've got him in my si- _OOF!_ "

The two men awkwardly slammed together, like a pair of meteorites on a collision course. The airbike was knocked off-kilter, swaying at a dangerous angle but eventually staying in place despite the drastic shift of weight and pitch. One of the man's legs was bent and resting against the area around Estavez's collarbone, while the other flailed outwards in order to regain his balance. Estavez's breath was pushed out of his throat and his chest ached where it had been struck. The gun he'd been holding, ready to fire, was flung from his hand as a result of the staggering impact. Their faces were an inch apart, and Estavez found himself unable to stare into the frightening mask at such close quarters. His heart hammered in his chest at the proximity, and he could _feel_ the fugitive's heart fluttering too, either from fear, anger, or both.

"Don't play games with him, Estavez! _Shoot!"_

Once they'd gotten over their shock, the cycle twisted in the air as they grappled, nearly turning 90 degrees upside down. Estavez reached for his spare gun and grabbed it successfully, but as soon as the man saw it in his hand, his face twisted under the mask. The next movement was too fast to see with the naked eye, but Estavez's pain receptors clearly registered its results.

 _"ARRRH!"_

Estavez's gun was a pile of sizzling cut-up components in his hand, tumbling away in the wind. His helmet had been tossed off his head at the force of the blow. No, not a blow, it'd been more than that. The man's hand did more than hit to hurt. It'd _cut_. In horror, Estavez felt bile rise in his throat as he grasped the fact that the three, searing lines of agony across his face were slash marks, and the the blood blinding his left eye was his own. A combination of the shock and blunt-force trauma from the event rendered Estavez limp, half-conscious, and rambling from that point forward in the scuffle.

Finally, the man spoke his first words during the entire encounter, proving that he did in fact have the ability. "Everyone out of the way!" He'd commandeered Estavez's vehicle and had it aimed at a walkway like a makeshift missile. It was too late to pull it up, even if he'd wanted too. Four mall patrons scattered like mice from its path at the man's warning.

"My _face_! I'm _bleeding_ to death! You cut my face!" Estavez words were like a broken record of irrationality and panic. "You tried to _kill_ me! You-!"

"Just shut up, wouldya, please?" And the small, ensuing explosion ensured that Estavez did just that. The man had leapt from the cycle prior to its crash, leaving its ruins behind but not the flyboy. He kept Estavez's uniform in the grasp of his adhering talons, showing a surprising amount of concern for his wellbeing considering his previous actions. A second, mighty leap sent both men to the entrance of a mega mall, marked with a massive "M". It was there that Estavez was dropped off before the man left him behind, diving into the cover that came with huge crowds.

Outside, mall patrons were excitable. The remaining Public Eye officers could hear snippets of their exclamations as they made their approach.

"Whoa! Check it!"

"Did you see it?"

"Holy shock-"

"Never saw a flyboy crash before."

"Public Eye got a _black_ eye, if y'ask-"

"-Jumped all the way from there to here, _and_ holding him. It was amazing."

The flyboys paid the spectators and occasional hecklers no heed as they advanced to their target's last known position. On the ground, they were joined by reinforcements posted at the shopping centre. One crouched bent beside Estavez's body, helping him to sit upright. Malik came up through the crowds, concerned.

"It's Estavez, awright!" announced the officer closest to him, grabbing Estavez's shoulders in support. "Get him to the nearest docs in a box! Where'd he go, Etsy?"

Dazed, and with a hand pressed over the left side of his bleeding and scarred face, Estavez gestured vaguely. "That way somewhere. I dunno."

The rest of the assembled Public Eye personnel clutched their weapons close, safeties sliding off in spite of the multitude of civilians milling about. Casualties were an unfortunate statistic, yes, but in a mission like this, it was best to put Alchemax's wishes first above all other concerns.

"Okay, men. Proceed with caution. He could be..." Only when inside the mall did it truly hit them how hopeless their plight now was. "...Anywhere," the Sarge finished, staring across a sea of shoppers, literally in the thousands. The sheer mass of bodies had undoubtedly made them lose him.

At the back, Malik muttered, "Aw shock."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Babylon Towers...**

 **A subsidiary of Alchemax...**

The door to his apartment slid open, granting access. Miguel O'Hara stepped inside, the rooms swathed in darkness. The motion sensors were swift to pick up on his presence, automatically making the lights switch on. This proved to be an inconvenience when the switch to brightness started his eyes a'stinging. He hissed and yelped, shoulders hunching as he flung his arms in front of his face as a shield.

"Lights to one quarter!" he ordered, and they dimmed drastically in accordance with his wishes.

"Hunh." Miguel let out a sigh, slumping over a table, one hand on it and the other holding the side of his aching head. "Better. _Much_ better."

After he'd recovered enough to go to the bathroom, Miguel wearily made his way to his window-side armchair with intentions to just unwind. No sooner had he sat down that his home Artificial Intelligence activated. She materialized into the air in front of him, appearing as a yellow hologram modeled after an ancient movie star from the 20th century. A nonexistent updraft ruffled the skirt of her dress, and she tossed a slim, golden arm over her head to smooth her hair.

"Good evening, Miguel," 'Lyla' greeted him according to her typical programming. Her voice was smooth, high, and breathy. "The time is 0133 hours. Outdoor temperature is fifty-four degrees Fahrenheit. Air is partly breathable. Forecast for the next two days is occasional cloudiness with a fifty percent chance of rain."

"Fifty percent," Miguel repeated, dully. "That means _maybe_ it'll rain, maybe it won't."

Lyla, unable to understand the intent or meaning of his words, ran a quick scan of him with what would equate to a machine's concern for her master's wellness. "Your personal bio-readings indicate an accelerated heartbeat and pulse rate _above_ the norm. You've been exerting yourself."

"Tell me about it..."

"You have six messages pending, Miguel. Would you like to see them?" Lyla leaned forward, immaterial bosom heaving with fake breaths, pushed forward with her arms.

Wholly disinterested, Miguel murmured in a long-suffering way, "Sure, Lyla."

Those were the magic words. Immediately Lyla vanished, and in her place Miguel's hub projected the personage of Tyler Stone, Vice President and Director of Alchemax, and head of Research and Development. Most importantly, he was Miguel's boss, or rather _ex_ -boss. The first holo message began to play, a scowl growing on Miguel's mouth with every word he heard. He bathed in the hatred, _basked_ in it; it was glorious.

"Mike, I _strongly_ suggest you come to me so we can work something out. You need the drug. _You_ know it and _I_ know it."

Deadpan, Miguel spoke as though the man could hear him. "Tyler, there's a train leaving at 0830. Be under it."

Ominously, Tyler Stone's holographic visage seemed to stare directly into Miguel's soul. "The sooner we can come to an accord, the better it will be for all of us."

"Tyler Stone, humanitarian," said Miguel dryly, undaunted by any veiled threat that Stone may or may not have intended. "Next, Lyla."

There was a short scrubbing sound in the audio. "Miguel, it's Gabe."

"Yeah, I _know_ it's you, Gabe. Holos, remember?" Miguel eyed the 3D, yellow recording of his younger brother out of the corner of his eye. Physically Gabriel was like Miguel in a lot of ways. The brothers were of a similar height, though Gabriel was somewhat smaller in build, and their hair and eye colours were nigh identical. However, while Gabriel's face exuded a sort of kind, naive dopiness, Miguel's features were sharper, more cold, more handsome, even. In that way, Miguel differed from both his brother and his late father. Gabriel wore a striped scarf about his neck, and as usual his pair of signature goggles sat in their constant state above his head.

"Look, avoiding me isn't going to make things better. I stand by what I said before. The whole corporate raider program is a nasty piece of work, and you're a nasty part of it. But I still love ya, man. I-"

"Dump it and move on, Lyla." Miguel bent over dispassionately, hands clasped behind his neck. He lifted his gaze for a moment when the third voice started speaking. For a moment his eyes caught the swollen bruise on Dana D'Angelo's eye, and his throat clenched. His head was placed in his hands as he passively listened, not mockingly addressing her like he had the preceding messages.

"Miguel? Are you _there_? C'mon, honey, pick up. ...No? Look... Mig... I... I'm really frightened for you. The other day, when you were strung out on the drugs, I've never _been_ so scared. And now it's... it's like you've vanished off the face of the Earth. Miguel, I'm your _fiance_. Don't leave me hanging after-"

"Dump it," said Miguel shortly.

"The remaining three are also from Dana."

"Dump 'em _all_."

His fiance's face was the final straw. He stood for a second, long enough to swipe aside the hologram of Dana while the reformed Lyla watched. Once the frustration was out of his system, the AI coeed, "Miguel, your present behaviour is not within normal programming parameters. You've diverted drastically from your standard pattern of domestic arrival activities. You've made no entries in your personal journal for five days, you-"

"My journal? My journal, huh? All right, Lyla, journal mode then."

Eager to be of assistance, the AI drew a yellow pair of glasses, a pen, and a notepad from thin air. She put on the glasses and professionally positioned the "pen" over the pad of paper in wait, ready to run her animation of jotting down notes as soon as Miguel started speaking.

Miguel intertwined his fingers together and placed them under his nose, gathering his jumbled thoughts. In his mind he felt himself falling, avoiding flyboys and bounty hunters, tripping out on the rapture, and the explosion. The last few days had been hard to process, let alone recall with coherent intelligibility. How to put it all into words... Eventually, the tale just tumbled out.

"Take this down."

* * *

 **End of Prologue  
**


	2. Human Trial 01

**AN: Lots of foreshadowing in here, if you can catch it! Also just gotta say that I've always loved Tyler Stone as a villain. He's evil enough to be irredeemable, but human enough to be realistic, and doesn't need to throw on a costume to be a pain. He's your typical, everyday CEO psychopath that you see all too often today, and that's the most frightening thing of all.  
**

 **Anyone interested in seeing this continue? Review please! :)**

* * *

 **Human Trial 01  
**

* * *

 **Earlier...**

 **Alchemax Archives...**

"ESP, huh?" Miguel muttered to himself, flipping through the file he'd managed to scrounge up.

Information on the heroic age was so rare that even these dusty old papers and physical photos contained in his work place's archives were a gold mine. Presently, his inspiration for his newest project was none other than "Spider-Man". The spider-themed superhero had initially piqued Miguel's interest when he'd been assigned to a prestigious position in the corporate raider program. If there was ever a metahuman that would make the perfect corporate spy for Alchemax, it would be Spider-Man. Since he was long dead and his secrets buried with him, Miguel had had to improvise.

He ran a long finger down the list of powers that he'd contemplated so many times before, lingering on the entry on the enhanced senses and mysterious "sixth sense" that the subject had apparently demonstrated back in his prime. That bit would be particularly difficult to replicate, but if the key lay in arachnid DNA, then Miguel was confident in his ability to approximate the ability in a subject.

Rather than returning the file to its proper place, Miguel carefully pocketed it in his long lab coat and left the dingy record room. There was work to be done today if he wanted to stay on schedule, and it'd be convenient to have this and his accompanying notes on his person for immediate reference.

First he had to review the results of last night's initial primate experiment. He'd started with lizards, then gradually moved up to mammals, and now he was looking into slowly adding specific, small, spidery traits to chimpanzees. Not all at once, fortunately, only one trait at a time. However, last night he may have made a breakthrough. He'd left a female chimp inside the chamber for a new record of a mere thirty minutes to almost completely rewrite her genetic code, then let her rest until morning to see what she would manifest. He knew that Alchemax executives would expect his final, human trials to be much faster and efficient, but for now he was content to let the scientific process progress slowly in trial and error tests. Computer simulations using his own logged genome as an example of a typical human model had been promising...

There were quite a few lesser employees out and about, bustling to and fro like bees on a mission. A lot of their blank, senseless eyes and empty smiles indicated to Miguel that they were on Alchemax's most popular designer drug, Rapture, which was distributed primarily through the inner circle of the company and outwards. Not bothering to conceal his disgust, Miguel's nose wrinkled. Supposedly it enhanced one's intellectual abilities and made one content by calming high-stress emotions through brain chemistry, but Miguel knew the truth. While it may do all that was claimed, that couldn't change the fact that at the same time it made the user a complacent idiot. He would never be so weak as to rely on a substance that made him a slave.

Passing a few stooges who greeted him with snivelling waves and "good morning Mr. O'Hara"s, Miguel made his way to the non-human animal storage area. He strode by many habitats without a second glance until he came upon the units dedicated to housing his test animals. 099, or as he liked to call her, Margarete, was huddled in the corner of her large enclosure. It may have been large and filled with stimulating toys that Miguel had provided for her, but it was still lonely. Chimpanzees were social animals but the experiment required that she stayed isolated for observation.

At seeing Miguel, Margarete scuttled over, desperate for companionship after her ordeal. Miguel stared, brown eyes wide. She'd _scuttled_ , alright, right across the wall. At least _that_ part had worked. He opened the upper hatch in her clear door to slip her some food, and out of curiosity, tossed a bouncy ball at her. It'd been a lousy throw, since Miguel was a lousy shot, but she caught it with a single hand. So far this was turning out to be his most successful trial of the machine yet, and he was nearly giddy with pride.

The mutated chimp didn't appear to have any visibly secreting spinnerets, but those would probably show up after a few days of growth and organ reconfiguration. For the most part, he'd isolated and relocated the genes responsible for silk production, so that in bipedals it tended to manifest on the upper limbs. He was debating on removing those genes altogether, but only time would tell if they proved useful enough to keep in the main program.

"Any other physical changes...?" he wondered aloud, jotting something down on his clipboard. Maybe some fangs...? It'd been an unintended side-effect in most subjects, one that he was trying to eliminate through refining the genes he inserted in each subsequent trial. As far as he knew, the original Spider-Man had not used fangs, and in Miguel's opinion they seemed wholly unnecessary. In certain situations they might be useful, yes, but the success of a corporate spy depended upon the agent's ability to appear as normal as possible and remain undetected as a traitor. Perhaps later he would sedate Margarete and check to see if he'd finally broken the code on the fang problem.

Before taking his leave, Miguel stopped by the smallest enclosure of all, containing perhaps his _fiercest_ asset of them all. An orange baboon tarantula crouched at the entrance of its hide, still as a statue. Miguel could swear she was staring him down, ready to pounce if not for the glass. He had named her "Conchata" after his mother, and _not_ out of fondness, the crazy bitch...

He crouched in front of the tarantula, observing its fangs, the little hook-like toes, and its squinty eyes. She was a prime specimen of her species, and had been one of the initial donors in the early building of his arachnid-program for the machine. Various jumping spider species had come soon after, then orb-weavers, trap-doors... every conceivable species that could give his new Spider-Man an advantage in the field. Out of sentimentality, he'd kept Conchata on hand, a trophy of sorts to his upcoming triumph. He fed the wee demon a cricket, watching with some satisfaction as her fangs crunched into its carapace, then went to his final stop for the shift.

His machine. His pride and joy, his seminal work, his _magnum opus._ She was beautiful.

The machinery took up most of the room reserved for his work. It was circular, blossoming out like a flower from the egg-shaped chamber in its center. From above, everything was lit with light that transformed most surfaces into a brilliant, yellow-orange, like a sunset. The top of the egg had a round window in its top, for observation, energy input, and feedback. Eight leg-like structures supported the chamber in order to lift it, open it, and so forth. Around the machine's circumference was the large observation deck, complete with controls and a desk that Miguel had ordered in when the engineers had started on his basic blueprint. Back then he'd liked to watch them work, hovering over their shoulders to ensure that no short cuts were taken on his design.

A few people were already there, most of them fellow scientists and supervisors. Miguel's machine was the talk of the entire company, and with it and other such starting projects he'd made it big in Alchemax in a very short period of time, ascending the ranks at an alarming rate. Also present was Aaron Delgato, Miguel's assistant and self-appointed handler. The man was portly, in his fifties, and with the ugliest damn goatee Miguel had ever seen on a human being. As usual, Aaron looked less than happy to be there, and his expression soured further at seeing Miguel enter. He knew that Delgato was a jealous man, and would sabotage the machine if he could, but didn't dare. Aaron Delgato was a hasbeen, a loser, and utterly pitiful. The laws of the jungle were the same as the laws of business, and they dictated that it didn't _matter_ how long Delgato was with the damn company. At the end of the day, Miguel was younger, smarter, and more valuable in every way.

"O'Hara," called Delgato, coming over to get Miguel's attention. He fumed when Miguel pointedly ignored him in favour of draping his outer lab coat on his desk's chair and setting down his clipboard.

" _O'Hara_ ," Delgato repeated.

" _Yes_ , Aaron ol' boy?"

"Stone says he wants a fresh report on your progress on the spider-program."

 _Ty can suck a cock_ , Miguel wanted to say, but instead he replied smoothly, "I sent one out last night. Surely you knew?"

Delgato's face began to very much resemble a tomato. It was all Miguel could do not to laugh in his face. The man may be pathetic, but Miguel actually enjoyed his company. He was... entertaining, and in this day and age entertainment was worth gold to someone like Miguel. Like the rest of him, Miguel's sense of humour was cynical to say the least, so this dinosaur of a corporate lackey who'd survived in the science departments this long purely through his will to remain relevant was something of a hilarity to him. Messing with Delgato was a joy, and all too easy to do.

"You know that all reports are supposed to come through _me_."

"I figured I would just cut out the middle-man. It's a pretty pointless protocol if you ask me."

"It's part of my job."

"And we pay you... why?"

Miguel could sense a rant incoming, and his prediction proved true when Delgato next opened his mouth. "Look, O'Hara, you may be the project head, but _I'm_ the one who answers to Mr. Stone, which means _you_ answer to _me_."

"I'll try to stick to one-syllable words, then."

Delgato's voice rose as he forged on, but Miguel didn't interrupt him, opting to let him get it out of his system. "I don't care if you _are_ one of the great hopes of Alchemax! I don't care if you were given the full university treatment and brought in to head this genetics program. You must have respect for the system of command!"

"I _have_ respect for the system, Aaron. Just none for you."

"Listen, smart guy, I've kept my mouth shut up to now-"

"And don't think we haven't appreciated it," Miguel quipped impertinently.

"-for the company's sake, even though I can't stand smug 'geniuses' like you. But if you don't shape up, I'm going to _break_ you."

"You break me, you bought me," said Miguel smoothly, once more flipping through the file he'd checked out from the archives. Threats weren't uncommon in this company of Judases and reprobates, and he'd learned to live with them. "Aaron Aaron _Aaron_ , even _you_ can't deny how well the work's been progressing."

"Of course, but-"

"We've achieved terrific success at altering the genetic structure of test animals, and I've even found some quality research material for inspiration." From the file Miguel pulled out some copies of surviving photographs and illustrations of the Spider-Man. Most pictures were taken by the same photographer, funnily enough. Someone called Pearson? Pedro? "Here, feast your orbs."

Aaron's eyes roved uncomprehendingly over the images. Spider-Man's poses consisted of inhuman contortions and crouches, his flexibility unparalleled. The superhuman looked striking in his outfit of red and blues, and the white eye lenses and spider-logo added the tiniest hint of fear factor to his look. Miguel knew that Aaron would be impressed.

"You don't think I chose spider DNA for fun, did you? His name was _Spider-Man_. One of the premier boys from the old heroic age 'round the turn of the century. Proportionate strength of a spider."

"What do you mean 'proportionate'?"

Miguel rolled his eyes. "It means he didn't get a swelled head about it. You want an _ideal_ corporate raider? Imagine one that could scale walls, jump fifty feet, early warning detection system, strong, agile... _That's_ the direction we're going, we just can't go too _quickly_ , otherwise..."

"Otherwise what?"

For a second Miguel smirked, then he turned on his heel to stroll around the observation deck. "Otherwise we'd lose you. So we're taking it nice and slow, so that you can follow along. Enjoy the book, it has lots of pictures~"

So stunned was Delgato at Miguel's audacity that his mouth was agape for a what felt like a good long minute before he charged after him. The priceless pictures were scattered to the floor where he dropped them. "Alright, you little-"

Whatever Delgato had been about to say was silenced by the arrival of Tyler Stone. Aaron Delgato may have been a joke to Miguel, but Tyler Stone on the other hand was far from that. It was Tyler Stone who had first plucked Miguel from the mediocre masses of children, first inducted Miguel into the company, and first brought him into the fold. And yet, Miguel hated him, feared him even. The man was not to be trifled with. In terms of appearance, his hair was blond, maybe dyed, though Miguel wasn't sure nor could he find it in himself to care. He was clean-cut in both facial features and clothing, about six-feet tall, with eyes like ice. Though past his prime, Tyler was still an attractive catch for the ladies and a ruthless contender for the CEO spot. Miguel avoided crossing him at all costs, mostly because he hated interacting with the man.

A serious smile split Stone's face before he spoke. The other scientists on site seemed to cower and grovel behind him, anxious to be of service. "Gentlemen, I couldn't help but overhear-"

"Mr. Stone! Not long _enough_ , no see," snarked Miguel with sickeningly false warmness.

"-But Aaron here is correct. Alchemax wants _results_."

"Alchemax can't _want_ anything, Ty. It's a corporation, a legal 'thing'. Only humans can have human desires," he droned dully. Messing with Delgato was a game, but dealing with Stone was usually a drag. "And humans have to be aware that reckless testing on human subjects would be-"

"Mike, if my father were alive today, you know what he'd say?"

"Help, help, get me out of this coffin?"

"He'd say caution is the first refuge of the coward." Suddenly chummy, Tyler threw an arm around Miguel's shoulders. Then, he prompted, "And he'd say that because...?"

"He loves the sound of his own voice?" Miguel was not in the mood for Tyler's bull, and he was barely tolerating the physical contact with him. It was uncomfortable, but Miguel welcomed it inasmuch as it added flame to the fire of his contempt.

"Because it would be _true_ , which is why we've brought in Mr. Sims here."

Two guards in Public-Eye uniforms entered as if on cue. Between them was a man, a former inmate if his prison uniform was anything to go on. It was a two-piece, made of green and with a white bullseye emblazoned on the front and back, marking him as a societal outcast and target. On the left side of his chest was his tag with his identification number and name. His hair was carrot-coloured, slicked back and with a receding hairline. He certainly looked the part of an inmate, too, with muscles bulging through his clothing. Still, the man called Mr. Sims looked fretful more than anything, like a rabbit caught between a fence and a predator, ready to flee if his courage would allow him.

Miguel was furious. The day had finally come. Alchemax was strong-arming itself into his experiment. It was just like them to prey on the desperate in order to get a test subject, too. "Mind telling me what sort of warped _joke_ this is?"

"No joke. Rather than face aging forty years as his court-assigned punishment, Mr. Sims has volunteered for the raider program." Tyler was as cheerful as a child on his birthday. To him this was just another game that he had to play and win in the course of his career.

"This is insane. We're not ready for humans yet. Mr. Sims, it's far too dangerous," Miguel started, gesturing with his hands imploringly. The last thing he wanted was this idiot's death on his conscience.

"Look, Doc- I _want_ to do this. I really, _really_ don't want them to make a doddering old man outta me. I gotta chance here to get my sentence commuted, so I'm taking it." Mr. Sims' voice was a perfect match to his burly exterior, gruff and deep. However, when he next spoke, it dropped into a sort of half-whisper that maybe betrayed some misgivings. "Just... do the best job ya can for me, okay?"

* * *

 **/**

* * *

Everything was set up, and Sim's was properly situated, naked in the recently installed seat of the chamber. Yellow light from the top of the chamber bathed his body. Needles and tubing were applied to his neck. Airtight glass walls had descended around the rails of the observation deck for safety. The final checks had nearly been done, and now all that was left was to start.

Miguel had taken Mr. Sim's small request to heart, and was doing the best he could to delay the process as much as possible to look for any final fixes. He'd been forced to use the latest update of his general primate-spider program as his base, mixed with the human-spider simulation using his own DNA, and had scrambled for time to make sure that it would all mesh well with Mr. Sims' genome sequence.

"Nice how you stood up to Mr. Stone, Genius-Boy." Miguel couldn't tell if Aaron Delgato meant it or if he was just being snide as usual. Could've been sarcasm, too. His tone of voice when he said it was surprisingly neutral and hard to place.

Aloud, Miguel tried to justify it all to himself. "If I walk, Stone would go ahead without me. Then Mr. Sims' life is in _your_ hands, Aaron. That puts his chances somewhere between zero and none. I'm his only shot." Taking a deep breath, Miguel spoke into the microphone that projected his voice from behind the glass to the speakers pointed inwards to the machine.

"Mr. Sims, can you hear me?"

 _"Y...Yeah."_

Nodding to himself, Miguel started to explain. He figured it was only right, and in his experience it tended to make subjects more calm if they at least knew what they were getting into in technical terms, no matter how disturbing and unknown it may seem. "What we're trying to do is tinker with your genetic structure. We have a variety of different imprints we could be using. At the moment, I'm trying something simple involving spider DNA, that would ideally give you augmented strength."

"What about that full spider-imprint program you were talking big about?"

Miguel threw Delgato a dirty look over his shoulder as he loaded up the appropriate program, hands gliding over the controls. "One step at a time, Aaron. I don't want to try and totally rewrite the man's genetic makeup, especially when I'm under time constraints. We could end up with a hideous, mutated _freak_. Or even worse... _you_. Alright, gentlemen. Let's bring it to full power."

Engineers in the lower level of the observation deck began to feed in the energy necessary to run the machine's functions. Up top, Miguel activated the command to lower the "egg's" upper half, and drop it down to bask in the crackling energy the machine was projecting. This was in order to kick-start the changes. Inside, he knew that the program was being inserted in liquid form.

While Miguel waited, he continued to taunt Delgato. It was the best medicine for calming his nerves and passing the time. Eventually he was aware of Tyler Stone lurking somewhere behind them, also waiting patiently for the results.

"Like the design of the transformation chamber, Aaron? Got it off an old holo... _'The Fly_ '. You'd like it. It's about someone who turns into a totally disgusting creep. I bet you could relate to it."

"You can't fool me, O'Hara. You're keeping up the flip remarks, but you're terrified you're going to fall flat on your face this time."

"Well, ya got me, Aaron. Here I am, scared about a human life at risk. What _could_ I have been thinking?" Miguel spat just as the timer ran out. "Okay, men. Open her up."

For a moment Miguel allowed his heart to hope. After all, his first, full-gene overwrite of Margarete had gone exceptionally well, and humans shared ninety-eight percent of their DNA with chimpanzees. Sims would probably be fine. When the glass panels had moved away, he personally strode down the steps to see his handiwork. The transformation chamber had returned to its regular position as though to meet him halfway. The egg split in half, and Miguel put his hands on the lid as it lifted upwards to hurry it along. He didn't want Mr. Sims in there a second longer, and he was sure the man felt the same.

"Mr. Sims? Still with us? Now you'll probably feel a fairly sharp tingling. That should pass in a couple of- _AAACK!_ " Miguel screamed in pain and naked terror.

A large, powerful hand lashed out and closed around Miguel's neck. It closed swiftly, and it was all Miguel could do to breathe at first. Mr. Sims made a low, guttural sound, and in close quarters Miguel was able to see with startling detail what the machine had done to him _._ His body was swollen, twice its original size in mass, and through his horror Miguel was reminded of Conchata's rotund abdomen. Two pairs of vestigial limbs hung uselessly from his hips. The top half of his muscled body was covered in a thin layer of fine, near-transparent hairs. In tandem with the rest of him, his eyes were blown up, with large black pupils that nearly took up his entire sclera. On the outside, the eyes were rimmed red. Sims, or what had once been Sims, shook with seizures. The hand around Miguel's neck occasionally loosened or flexed as Sims experienced loss of muscle control, only to regain it later. This allowed Miguel to speak, however briefly.

"Get him- _accchhh_ ," he choked. Distantly he could hear panicked yells, but it was getting harder not to black out. Delgato was shocked and silent, and there was no help forthcoming from him.

"Get him _off me_!" Miguel finally managed to get out, heart nearly leaping out of his chest when Sims leaned over like a wounded animal, face-to-face with Miguel. The sight was scary, but also sad, somehow. Miguel would have to get through to either him or his coworkers and soon if he wanted to survive this.

"I'm _sorry_ , Mr. Sims," gasped Miguel, moisture gathering in his eyes from either emotion or the strain of breathing. For once, he was sincere. "Mr. Sims, I'm sorry, I _tried_ -! I-!" Another squeeze of the hand and Miguel's rare supply of sympathy waned. "Will someone shockin' _shoot_ him with something?!" he demanded.

When the thing held Miguel, there was no hint of humanity left in his blacked-out eyes, nothing that Miguel could discern other than the suffering of an animal clinging to its last vestiges of intelligence. At the same time, though, he seemed to be _pleading_ , _begging_ for something... If it was the release of death, he found it soon afterwards.

"I- ...Sims?"

With a final sigh, the creature keeled over. Miguel managed to scurry back in time as the creature collapsed in on itself, melting, slowly forming a thick pile of body parts that became more and more of a liquid as minutes passed. Rubbing his aching throat, Miguel took two more steps back to avoid stepping in the now-puddle of ex-human waste. The smugness was practically _pouring_ off of Delgato; Miguel could feel it in waves where he stood. Tyler said something, and even if Miguel caught the words he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.

"Hmm... dead. Still, he broke his restraints _effortlessly_. From an accelerated strength scenario, this was very positive. _Very_ positive. I'm proud of you, Mike."

Miguel O'Hara's employee ID card clattered to the floor. Spooked, disgusted, and done, he turned on his heel and left like there was a fire at his heels. If he moved fast enough, left that place, maybe he could erase the memories from his psyche before they became permanent, convince himself it hadn't happened.

"I'm gone," he grunted, voice hoarse, Stone's protests following his retreating back.

* * *

 **End of Chapter**

 **And as always, please leave a review!  
**


	3. Rapture

**AN: First of all, big thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapters! I love you guys, seriously. This update is for you.  
**

 **Still following along with the traditional origin. I tried to work in a lot of Miguel's thoughts from the comic into the narration, especially towards the end. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

 **Rapture**

* * *

 **Shortly afterwards...**

Stone managed to head O'Hara off before he could leave the building and divert him to his office. Miguel allowed it, if only for the fact that they would need to discuss his severance package, not to mention a parting bonus to pay for his therapy after seeing a human being mutate and shocking _melt_ in front of his eyes. He knew that Stone would try to convince him to stay with the company, but Miguel's mind was already made up. Rather than allow him to arrive organically at an endpoint in his experiments, Alchemax had made him a murderer, even if the law wouldn't see it that way. There was no way he was going to chance another human trial after that fiasco earlier. Not. Even. One.

Tyler Stone's office was practically a penthouse. It was long, almost looping around the entire level of the building. Tempered and tinted glass made up the outer barrier of the room, allowing Tyler to look out at his leisure at the city and its traffic. Besides his L-shaped executive desk, it also had a bar and a long table set with conference chairs for guests. Stone led Miguel to the table, gesturing for him to sit.

"Take a seat, Mike. Let's talk, have a drink."

Miguel's mouth formed a thin line. For now he stayed standing. "I meant what I said, Ty, and I said I'm gone, I quit."

"You need to _relax_ , Mike. Maybe take a couple of days off, get your head on straight again," Tyler told Miguel in what passed for comfort for him, turning his back. From his office bar he pulled out a wine bottle and started to pour them two glasses. With a hint of pride, he said, "This is from my private stock. 1994 was an excellent year."

"Are you even taking me seriously? I'm not going to be a part of another incident like today's. Even if you continue the work after I'm gone, at least I won't be a party to it."

Sighing, Stone slowly brought over the drinks and set them down. After another firm gesture from him Miguel finally sat down, deciding to humour him. He'd put up with Stone for years, so he could deal with watching his lips flap for another few minutes, especially with the help of some wine.

In a disappointed tone, Stone tried a chance in tactics. "Alchemax has groomed you, Mike. Cared for you, educated you, just as we did your father. He was a _brilliant_ man, your father."

"You can _bill_ me," Miguel bristled and snapped. Guilt trips wouldn't work on someone like him, let alone from Stone. Him talking about his father only added to his frustration, and he wondered if Stone had done that on purpose.

George O'Hara had had a few rare strokes of brilliance in him before he puttered out, this was true. Under Alchemax, he'd contributed to the redesign of the Public Eye's surveillance and security system for the entire city. Perhaps it was this that had attracted Miguel's mother to him. She probably had a soft spot for intelligent men hiding a darker side. Well, George had a darker side, alright, one that had landed his ex-wife in an institution soon after the divorce.

Stone passed Miguel one of the wine glasses, shaking his head slowly at the floor. "Well, Mike... You've obviously made up your mind. I can _appreciate_ that, what's more, I can respect that. Despite what the Indys would have you believe, we here at Alchemax are not heartless monsters. Our employees are cherished participants, not prisoners. You are perfectly free to leave our little family if you wish, though we'll be sad to see you go. We're a business, not a stalag. Not only that, but I assure you that Roxxon, Stark-Fujikawa, Synthia... _anyone_ who contacts us about you will receive _nothing_ but the highest recommendation. Here's to a bright future."

Miguel raised an eyebrow as he accepted the drink, Stone hoisting up his. This was not sounding like Stone at all. Still, he liked what was being said, insincere or not. Cautiously, he allowed their glasses to clink together in a final toast, then took a sip. Stone did the same, frosty-blue eyes watching him over the rim of his glass. Stone hadn't been kidding about 1994 being a good year. Miguel didn't know the last time he'd had such good wine.

"Of course... I'm still _hoping_ you'll reconsider," said Stone smoothly, setting down his drink. Miguel nearly choked on the wine, absolutely boggled by the man's nerve. He didn't feel as angry as he might've, though. In fact, he felt fine. Better than fine. Everything was light, the memory of Sims fate seemed faraway, and the future and all its endless possibilities felt closer and within reach. He chopped it up to finally relieving the weight of Alchemax off of his shoulders, being free to pursue scientific pursuits on his own or with an Independent, if he so chose.

"Ty, did we just have a synaptic meltdown in the last few minutes? I'm leaving, remember? Vapour. Poof. And y'know, now that I've made the decision... I feel more relaxed than ever."

"Yes," said Stone. Almost amused, he lightly took Miguel's wine from him and examined it up close, like a man over a telescope, fascinated by what only he could see under the slide. "That would probably be because of my parting gift: The _Rapture._ "

Miguel's heart leapt into his throat, stomach twisting into knots. "Wh-what?"

"The rapture in the wine you just drank. I'm sure you're familiar with it."

 _No, no no no no..._

The initial bliss was swiftly spoiling, moldering into a new sensation of dread that was all encompassing. Miguel could swear that he was starting to see little... _things_ peaking out at him from behind the corners of his vision, manifestations of his feelings. Howls and shrieks whispered past his ears like a wind only he could hear. Versions of the mutated Mr. Sims crawled accusingly over Tyler Stone's desk, small as spiders, like that older _"The Fly"_ holo...

"A mind-expanding hallucinogen. Very high-powered, very fast-working, and very long-lasting. Perfectly legal, of course. A number of Alchemax employees are already users," Stone said casually. A smirk slipped onto his face, and Miguel flinched back in his seat as a fork-like tongue flickered out from between his perfect teeth. "But my records indicated that you'd never availed yourself of it. I thought maybe the prohibitive expense had made you hesitate, so consider this a present."

Shakily, Miguel stood. His hands clenched into fists, eyes darting from Tyler to various points in the nightmare room. "You... creeping p-piece of..."

Tyler just tilted his head, as though a novel thought had suddenly struck him. "Now that I _think_ of it... Perhaps you've passed on it because Rapture is so _addictive_. Once it's in your system you need it the way you need oxygen to _breathe_. Without Rapture, you'll shut down and die." His voice dropped, hands affectionately patting Miguel on the shoulder. The younger man had turned away and clutched his head, trying to regain some semblance of sanity.

"You want to hit me, don't you? _I_ wouldn't. I think you'll want me to remain kindly disposed to you... especially since Alchemax is the only authorized Rapture distributor. That's probably another reason it held no appeal for you. You being such an _independent_ sort, Mike... You'd never want to give up your ability to just walk out. You can still walk away, Mike. But you won't like the consequences."

He was suffocating in this office, drowning in the stench that was Tyler Stone. Miguel fumbled for the door, and Stone helped him open it and held it there as Miguel stumbled through. Stone smiled like a jackal at his retreating figure, but because he was facing the other direction, Miguel missed the parting look.

"I'll have a car bring you home," he called soothingly after him. "Get some rest... and enjoy the Rapture. If you fight it, it can be quite nasty, so I'd just give in if I were you. And Mike... Here's hoping you choose to be a member of the Alchemax family for some time to come."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Outside Babylon Towers...**

Tyler Stone was a fox. He could turn on anyone at any moment, and Miguel had been a fool to trust him for even a moment. Now, Tyler Stone was a literal fox, snarling in front of him and licking his lips. The eyes like ice and the sleek blond fur were undoubtedly him. Miguel determinedly strode through him and into its open mouth, shivering until he got through to the other side.

 _None of it's real. Get a grip. Don't give in._

As hard as he tried, Miguel couldn't find it in himself to return to that state of calm before, nor did he really want to. Even if it was a matter of stupid pride, or self-suffering, he fought the drug all the way home. The day he listened to Tyler Stone was the day he died.

People looked at him like he was crazy, but his attention was always elsewhere. The walkways were a battleground of terrible images, bizarre sound and sights that he would not soon forget. Conchata the tarantula crawled down the side of Miguel's apartment building, but fused to her head was the face of his actual mother. Her front legs lifted, fangs bared, before she pounced. Out of reflex Miguel tripped and skidded across the sidewalk for a second, scrambling away from concerned and annoyed passerbys. He darted inside and all but sprinted to the elevator, hitting his floor's button since he couldn't trust his voice to enter the spoken command. The elevator was no safe-haven from the Rapture's adverse effects, unfortunately. He cowered stiffly into the corner, counting the levels as they went by.

The ride felt like an hour-long ordeal, but finally Miguel made it to his apartment door. With what little coordination he had left Miguel managed to stagger inside, groaning and keeping his eyes squeezed tightly shut. This was how his fiance, Dana D'Angelo, found him.

She'd come to his apartment to wait for him as was her usual routine, and to pass the time had started a cardio session with Lyla. The stunning, holographic projection was in the middle of a chant as she stretched and stepped and guided Dana visually through the workout. Lyla's voice was a quirky, peppy trill of encouragement.

"One, two, three, four, come on Dana do some more. Don't slow down, don't take rests, this will help to firm your b-"

" _Uuuhhh_..." Miguel unintentionally interrupted them, gripping a fistful of his hair and forehead. He was oblivious to the real world, lost in the climax of the Rapture, entirely engaged in the peak of his battle with it.

Immediately Dana stopped her movements and barked at Lyla, "Freeze program!"

Freeze Lyla did, right on the spot and holding her half-step pose. Meanwhile the brunette jogged over, lines of concern growing on her face. To her he looked utterly deranged. Miguel shied away from her footsteps, facing the wall and sweating profusely.

"Miguel! What's wrong, lover? You're home early! Are you sick? Should I-"

The Rapture was finally wearing off, but towards its end the effects seemed to spike for Miguel. They were just hallucinations, he knew, but the rational side of his brain was in a losing battle with the part that could _see, hear, and smell_ them. _They_ **are** _real! Run!_ his subconscious all but screamed at him. So, when something _physical_ touched his arm, to the point that he could _feel_ it, that was the last straw.

" _Get away_!"

He lashed out blindly, flailing with all his strength. An arm caught something to his side, and that something turned out to be his fiance. Dana was practically flung from him, head knocked back from the force of the slap. She made a small sound that started to bring Miguel back to his senses. It'd been a purely defensive blow from Miguel's end, but it'd done its damage to her face.

Shaking his head, Miguel started towards her like a kicked dog, descending the steps one at a time with one arm ahead of him. A few fading apparitions slunk from his path, not unlike the way a mirage vanished when you got close enough. He gasped through his hand at the sight of Dana sitting on her knees, rubbing the side of her face. It brought back a flash of his mother, before the divorce. But if Dana was his mother, then what did that make Miguel...? _No_ , he wouldn't even entertain going down that rabbit hole, wouldn't dare to consider that conclusion.

"Aw, shock, Dana! I... I didn't realize it was- I thought you were a-"

"Just... Just keep _away_ from me," Dana grumbled.

"Honey, I _swear_ , I-" He stretched out the arm to touch her shoulder and saw the bruise blossoming over the skin surrounding her eye. "Aw, man, your _face_. I... I feel like _dirt_."

"Good!" she shot back at him. "Why did you-?"

"It's the Rapture. I was fighting it... seeing monsters everywhere. I-"

"Rapture?! Since when do you drop Rapture?"

He helped her stand, tenderly touching the part of her face that was temporarily marred by his moment of weakness. His fingers brushed aside some of her short, brown locks to better see the extent of it. Eyes wide, Dana grabbed at him. The explanation had completely taken her aback. The man she knew and was engaged to had openly condemned Alchemax's drugs, and Rapture specifically, since it was the most prevalent at his work. Miguel moved away, as if ashamed.

"Since Tyler Stone decided to slip me some as incentive to stay."

"You were quitting Alchemax?" Dana was in disbelief. Something bad must've happened for Miguel to throw in the towel, very, _very_ bad. She resolved to ask him about it later, but it was hard to get him to open up to even her.

"I... I was, but now... I mean, the effects have finally passed, but I can feel it _gnawing_ at me. I'll need it again, soon... But then Alchemax has my ass in a permanent sling."

"Listen," said Dana. She tried to get him to look her way again, tried to help him find hope in this shit storm of a situation. "I have friends. Even if you quit Alchemax, I can probably get Rapture through Black Market-"

"You want me to be a lousy drug addict my whole life?!"

Distraught, she flung herself onto him, resting her head on his shoulder. After a few seconds she could feel Miguel rest his head against hers, accepting the closeness and the comfort that came with it. He honestly didn't deserve her, but then Gabriel had deserved her less. Neither one of them were about to complain.

"I want you not to _hurt!_ That's all!" Dana buried her nose into his clothes, whispering. "That's all."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **That night...  
**

 **Alchemax HQ...**

Dana may have been complacent to let his new drug addiction fly, but Miguel wasn't about to throw in the towel yet. All he had to do was get creative. Every problem had a fix, if one could only find it. This particular problem was right up his alley, and all the equipment he needed was already at work, ready for his disposal.

That night he'd waited for Dana to head home before returning to Alchemax. He didn't tell her about his plan, both because he didn't want to worry her any more should things go wrong, and because he was a private man by nature. Dana wasn't exactly dumb, far from it, but she wouldn't understand.

Luckily, his records were still in the system since Stone didn't consider his resignation official. Once signed in the building granted him access. The whole way to the lab he was sneaky, avoiding any sign or sight of stragglers in the building. He made a stop at a terminal room once to meddle with the records and the footage from his route. The security computer was overridden to play a loop of the lab, and he erased the log about his entering the building. Miguel's personal mission required that there be no witnesses and no trace of evidence of his ever being here.

 _That trick would've been impossible for 99.9% of Alchemax employees_ , _but not Miguel O'Hara, super-genius_ , thought Miguel smugly and somewhat self-mockingly as he departed from the terminal room. Then, his thoughts became embittered. _A super-genius who let himself get blind-sided by a smiling snake named Tyler Stone._ _I spend so much time talking like Mr. Overconfident that I let myself_ **get** _that way._ **Brilliant**. _Well, O'Hara, let's see if you can turn some of that brilliance to your own problem..._

Rapture was unique in that it contained an enzyme component that bonded to the taker's biology at the genetic level, rendering them permanently predisposed to being addicted. It was this utilization of epigenetics that made it the most profitable of any company's designer drugs, even if it was primarily distributed for cheap amongst the Alchemax itself. It still managed to find its way on the street markets, however.

 _The Rapture's already attached itself to me genetically. By morning I'll be a hopeless addict. My only prayer is to try to restore myself to what I was._

Fortunately for Miguel, he had a copy of his complete genome uploaded to the files of his project. On the machine's observation deck, he opened it up for viewing on a computer screen. It was labelled: _FILE 1A O'HARA, GENEPRINT 100_. Even before officially beginning work on the Spider-Man project, Miguel had already been using his own genetic code as sample working material, imprinting it on apes. Later it'd been the first and so far only homo-sapien base of his human-spider program. It would've never occurred to him at the time that one day he'd want to try imprinting it on _himself_.

It should work. All he had to do was update himself with the back up to make things go back to normal. There was nothing more compatible and safe of a genetic imprint to implement than his own. He typed the instructions to have the machine load the program into the machine and prepare for a low-level session. There was no sense in taking unnecessary risks with the power, especially when there was only him around to run the machine this time. This would be more than enough to erase the corruption caused by the Rapture.

Miguel strode down into the humming machine, stopping before the egg-shaped chamber. Shivering in the cool, sterile air, he started to strip. He haphazardly tossed the clothes into a pile, then stepped inside to settle into the seat. The humming was growing louder as the machine charged, and the top of the dome was descending around him. Miguel never saw Aaron Delgato enter.

* * *

 **/**

* * *

"Miguel O'Hara, working overtime," Aaron muttered. At first he'd been startled to see the scientist here, but that surprise was rapidly being replaced by an evil enthusiasm, the kind that accompanied premeditated murder. Let no opportunity go to waste, Aaron always said.

His hands hovering over the dashboard, Delgato started to meddle with the first controls that caught his eye. Half of them didn't mean a thing to him. "A pity if something went _wrong_... something like... say... my pumping up the levels of every blasted piece of equipment in the imprint sequence. And what's this button do? Poor dumb old Aaron Delgato wouldn't understand your great concepts, would I, O'Hara? Doesn't much matter when _I'm_ in the driver's seat, though, _does_ it?!"

Unwittingly, Aaron added the spider-program to the already active human geneprint. The screen flashed the words, _FILE 1A O'HARA, 50. FILE 47-A SPIDER, 50._ The two programs mixed and mingled as the computer strained to comply with the conflicting commands being entered. _WARNING: EXCEEDING RECOMMENDED SAFETY LIMITS._

It was impossible to look directly at the center-piece of the machine now, so blinding was the energy blasting off of it. The humming of the machine was deafening now, like a scream. No, that was O'Hara, screaming inside. Never before had a sound been so satisfying to Aaron Delgato.

" _Warning. Equipment is exceeding recommended safety_ _levels_ ," calmly stated the computer when its on-screen warning went unheeded. _"Automatic shutdown in T minus five seconds..."_

"Override! Repeat, manual override!" Delgato roared. The computer complied, displaying a new message. _OVERRIDE IN EFFECT. FILES MERGING._

He leaned over the control board, eagerly peering through the blinding rays to catch some sight or sign of the chamber. It was lost in the light and heat, but maybe if Delgato was lucky he'd see or smell a whiff of smoke. O'Hara, well-done, his favourite dish. The screams were still audible, and they reached a peak just as the whole thing came undone. An explosion rocked the room, deafening and powerful, but contained in intense close-quarters with the center stage and chamber of the machine. Delgato knew it was coming, so he threw himself behind the controls for cover and pressed his hands over his ears. His coat was quite dirty, but besides that he was unharmed.

"HAAH!" the man crowed, straightening to see the destructive fruits of his orchestrated "accident". "How do you like that, Mr. Genius! Mr. Smart-mouth, wise-cracker! HOW DID-! Huh?"

Delgato sucked in a breath, his tirade dying in his throat. There was a naked human form pulling free from the wreckage, unharmed, and very much _alive_. He didn't believe it, _couldn't_ believe it, but there it was, clear as day. Unless O'Hara's shocking ghost was paying him a visit, then that was indeed him. This was not how this whole scenario was supposed to go, not if he wanted to get off scot-free. Delgato didn't know how he should react so as to save his own skin.

But wait, he still had one ace up his sleeve. Just from one look at the confused, huddled figure, Aaron knew that O'Hara didn't know that he'd been the one to overload the circuitry. Delgato could use that if he played along, put on a confident facade and laid the blame elsewhere. It was still possible for him to win in all this.

"Late night mad-scientist theatrics, O'Hara? You've just blown it _big_ _time_ , boy. When I tell Mr. Stone how you wrecked the equipment in some temperamental tantrum, that's going to finish you," sneered Delgato.

O'Hara didn't show any reaction to hearing him. He leaned against the remains of the leg-structures that had once supported the transformation chamber. Wires were hanging over his head, and soot had settled over the skin of his bare body. Though standing he'd curled into himself. One arm was limp, while the other was bent to his cranium. Soon his hands had joined each other in gripping the area around his eyes.

Daintily stepping over some debris, Delgato came ever closer. He wouldn't tolerate this impertinence; O'Hara had ignored him for the last time. The self-satisfied scientist had underestimated Delgato, too, not knowing how dangerous he could be when pushed.

"Then _I'll_ be back in charge, doing things the way they _should_ be..." Delgato drifted off and scowled. Still nothing from O'Hara. He roughly grabbed the younger man's shoulder to whip him around.

"Turn around and look at me when I speak to you, boy! Before I kick your butt from here to-"

A low rasping sound entered Aaron's ears, growing into a growl, or a hiss, _something_ inhuman. O'Hara's back unhunched slightly, eyes without visible irises or pupils leering over Delgato.

"-To-" Delgato stuttered, petrified. His self-assured front dropped, mouth opening and eyes bulging. Automatically, the hand on O'Hara's shoulder lifted away and lingered in front of Delgato in a useless gesture of defense.

O'Hara had a hand of his own stretched out, each finger tipped by a flesh-coloured talon. Through that reaching hand and under O'Hara's unholy eyes Delgato saw elongated canine teeth. Fangs was the only word for them. At such close proximity he heard him hiss again, near-silent. So thorough was his shock that Aaron Delgato never even realized that he'd relieved himself on the spot.

* * *

 **End of Chapter  
**

 **Dun dun dun.**

 **Did you make it this far? Please review! It encourages me to get these chaps out as fast as possible!**


	4. Spider-Man

**AN: Sorry for the longer wait! Chapters might start slowing down as school kicks into high gear. If you'd like to support the continued creation of this adaption as a reader then by all means show your support with a review -heart-. The more people that I know are reading, the more I will prioritize updating for you guys~**

 **Things are beginning to pick up hoho. Once again a lot of Miguel's thoughts have been indirectly changed to be incorporated into the narration.**

 **Slight Warning: Attempted character suicide.**

* * *

 **Spider-Man**

* * *

 **Alchemax Genetics Department...**

Everything was off. The world was wrong. Out of whack. Dark was daylight. His body tingled with an all-encompassing numbness that drove Miguel to distraction. Similarly, it was like his mind had shut down. There was an ambiguous buzzing in his ear. An after-effect of the explosion? Aaron Delgato speaking to him? Miguel's subconscious _screaming_ at him? He couldn't tell or care. So strange was Miguel's eyesight that he stared down at his hands without really seeing them. Unable to react. Numb.

There was that sound again. Miguel quirked his head to the only other human in the room. Delgato, yelling his name, maybe? Miguel turned and attempted to focus on him as if noticing him for the first time again. It was... challenging. He seemed huge and distorted. Everything did. The man looked like he was scared stiff, and was that a gun he was holding? Since when did he carry one of _those_?

"G-Get _back_! Keep away from me O'Hara!"

" _Aaarrrr-on_."

Even talking was damn-near impossible. He could hardly get a single word out. The "aa" sound was simple enough and the "rr" came easy, but after that the second syllable was a struggle. On top of that his mouth felt different, dry from the explosion, and somehow more full and heavy.

" _KEEP AWAY!_ " Delgato screeched, firing the weapon that turned out to be a gun after all.

On instinct Miguel dodged. Though he was still dazed and disoriented, he was able to duck a shot from practically point-blank range. If his mind had been working right, that might have been impressive to him. As it was though, he was only operating on some primitive part of his psyche compelled to keep him alive.

Another, more miniature explosion tore holes through the damaged machinery behind him. Slowly, Miguel's mind started to come back to him. Was this man insane?! He was going to kill both of them shooting up the place like a maniac.

"Aaarrrron! Stop!" Miguel was forced to dart aside to avoid another blast. Delgato's aim was awful, and further handicapped by his fear, but he was close enough to Miguel that those factors didn't much matter to the overall danger level of the situation.

" _Sssssstop_!"

"I won't let you kill me! I don't care _what_ you've mutated into! **_I won't let you kill me!_** "

Those screaming words combined with the gunshots were too loud for Miguel to tolerate. His ears were ringing and stinging, just about unbearably. One blast came far too close, missing Miguel's head by mere inches. He had to get some distance, that or get the gun away from Delgato before he blew the whole place sky-high. Taking a chance, he backed up to a wall and with a running start took a leap at his subordinate.

Miguel started to snarl mid-leap, "Will you... ssshut the ssshock up for one ss-"

Letting out a cry at Miguel's approaching proximity, Delgato shot wildly. He misfired by a mile, and one of the blasts hit a major power generator instead. Miguel never saw it happen, but what happened next nearly shook his body apart. Just feet from Delgato Miguel was thrown to the side from the force of a shock wave. Flames licked his skin but luckily didn't catch. His sense of balance and gravity were fucked. He didn't know which way was up or down, but in his flailing through the air he managed to grab hold of something important. It was Delgato. The two of them slid across the floor and nearly outside the new hole that'd been blasted out the side of the building. It was Miguel that saved them from falling to an unfortunate death. He slapped a hand down to the ground and it somehow slowed them to a stop. The two of them were just barely clinging to safety, Miguel horizontally laying down and hanging on to some debris shoved through the hole, while also holding onto Aaron's arm.

He'd survived a second explosion in the same day, somehow. Aaron was alive too. The discharge must've consumed multiple levels, because Miguel could see floors above and below him in the gaping wound of the skyscraper's side. Said cavity was spewing forth flames and pitch-black smoke that choked Miguel. He was thankful to be so close to the outer air, even if they were caught between a fiery hell and the edge of a building. To say the least, they were in a precarious spot.

"YAAAH!" Delgato screamed, eyes wide as he dangled between life and death.

"Hold on, Aaron! I... got you!" Miguel grunted. He adjusted his grip on him with one hand since his other hand was dedicated to maintaining an anchor point. For now he could only spare the single hand to keeping hold of Delgato while still keeping himself from falling forward, but that seemed to be enough. Miguel attributed his newfound strength to the wonders of adrenaline, but at the moment, he wasn't about to question it too closely.

"Pull me up! Pull me-" Writhing in agony, Aaron suddenly screamed. "Eeyyaa! Hurts! It hurts! You're killing me!"

"Killing you?! You moron, I'M _SAVING_ YOU! STOP SQUIRMING!"

"My _arm!_ YOU'RE RIPPING MY SKIN OFF. STOP IT! LET GO! LET GO LET GO LET-"

Miguel tried to reason with him, grasping harder onto the heavier-set man with two hands now. Each time he tried it got harder to hoist him up. "Aaron! We're a bazillion stories up! Stop fighting- AARON!"

His efforts to bat Miguel away compounded with the sudden ripping of his lab coat sent Aaron Delgato plummeting. He pinwheeled away, eventually disappearing into some clouds, smog, and smoke. Miguel screamed after him, calling his name. Abruptly ill, he heaved over the side of the mangled building, vomiting violently. He brought his hands up, imaging the human that had once depended on those hands a little more than a minute ago. How long would he fall before he met solid, unforgiving ground? Would he go all the way downtown? Would they even find his body?

"Wh- why was he struggling? I wasn't hurting him! I was holding him as _tight_ as I-" Miguel's voice croaked out, puttering into silence. He looked at his hands again. "I-" Finally he was starting to grasp what had happened to him. "...Oh, no. Oh _no_!"

Embedded on his bloodied fingertips was half of Delgato's lab coat, and poking through the tattered remains were pointed... _prongs_. They brought to mind Conchata's spikey little tarantula toes, and what they didn't stick to they shredded. Slowly, Miguel stood, pulling the coat free and unconsciously wrapping the fabric around his naked body. Had the air temperature just dropped ten degrees?

"Through here! The blast originated through here!"

"Take it slow!"

Miguel had company. Emergency workers. Armed Public Eye people in full body outfits and clear gas masks, like sleek hazmat suits. Miguel could discern their affiliation because of the Public Eye logo on their shoulders, an "e" forming an eye with a pupil. At first they just seemed confused, but at seeing his shadowed and smoke-obscured figure they started to form organized ranks. _They're here for me, if I don't move,_ part of him realized, but whilst in the middle of his own crisis he paid them no mind. Despite all his smarts, Miguel found that he couldn't process all the information swirling through his mind.

"My hands... what's happened to my hands? What's happened..." Miguel muttered shakily to himself, as though if he asked somebody would give him answers. Deep down, Miguel already _knew_ the answer, he just couldn't accept it. It was all dawning on him, on just how fucked he was. The officers were getting closer, drawn by his keening, and Miguel half-turned to eye them. "-to me?"

"There's somebody up ahead! Shine the lights over there!"

Hurt by the brightness, Miguel threw up his arms and backed up. The Public Eyes were transformed into menacing silhouettes against the back-lights and drifting vapour. _Talons..._

"You! Put your hands over your head!"

 _Heightened vision..._

He edged further away. Someone hollered, "HANDS. UP."

 _Leaping like a spider..._

Miguel thought of poor Mr. Sims and felt sick to his stomach all over again. It occurred to him that the machine was irreparably damaged, the one thing that could possibly _fix_ this. He swallowed, a foot brushing empty air. _God_ , what did the _rest_ of him look like?

"Hey! Step back!"

It all bubbled over into a yell. " _I'M A FREAK! HE MADE ME INTO A **FREAK!** I'd rather die!_" _  
_

They were peppering the air with stunbolts now, but it was too late. Aaron Delgato had had the right idea. Shock this shit. His life was already over, he might as well end it now. Without further ado Miguel flung himself free from the newfound horror that was his existence. He was falling fast, but not fast enough. His vision could somehow see all the way to the bottom, an ever-present reminder of what had been done to him, and what was about to come.

"Let it end!" His wail was lost to the wind. He tumbled head-over-feet, back almost brushing against the building. "Let me just..." Terror, stronger even than what he'd felt moments ago at discovering his mutation, consumed him. _Wait!_ every molecule of his being seemed to shriek. _We don't want to die!_ "Just... What am I nuts?!"

Desperately lashing out, Miguel latched his hands onto the skyscraper. The talons on his fingers dug into the metallic material like it was soft butter, gouging tracks. In a frenzy Miguel scrabbled at the surface with his feet before he lurched to a stop. His fingers alone hadn't saved him. Apparently there were identically angled talons on his toes as well. Now that he'd stopped, another immediate problem greeted him. There he was, suspended at thousands of metres above the world and with only empty space to greet him below.

"HEEELLLP!" was the first word out of his mouth, but the plea fell on deaf ears. It was only him. Over the course of a few seconds Miguel took many deep, flighty breaths. The wind was whistling through his skimpy cloth covering, threatening to blow it off his arms and waist. There was only one thing to do, if dying was officially off the table. Eyeing the tracks his talons had produced in the wall, Miguel began to mentally coach himself for the upcoming marathon ahead of him.

 _Okay... okay... whatever happens... Don't look down._ **Loser** _move. Don't look down- jammit- JESUS. Okay... whatever happens... don't look down_ **again**.

The first step was terrifying. Lifting even a single limb from the security of the edifice was panic-inducing. Miraculously, though, Miguel didn't slip even once. That was how he progressed, one hand in front of the other until he built up enough confidence to pick up speed. Miguel could hardly believe it; he was actually crawling a wall. He almost wished this was another Rapture hallucination.

Eventually Miguel made it to a ledge where he could clamber up and take a breather. The whole time he muttered to himself, occasionally staring at at the Public Eye and fire fighting squads swarming around the site of the accident. They'd be after him soon if he didn't get moving. At best the Public Eye had presumed him to be a firebrand-arsonist. At worst, they suspected him of being a meta-human. If they hadn't made that assumption, then Alchemax would soon. The purpose of the machine in that room was a fairly big correlational indicator that could not be ignored in this case.

All he could do was curse Aaron Delgato, the dead bastard. "You had to try and do it, didn't you Delgato?" Miguel panted. He shook from a variety of factors: exhaustion, cold, the injustice of it all. But most of all, Miguel just felt... nothing. Empty, numb, accepting, like when he'd first come forth from the wreckage of the machine.

"Had to try and booby-trap my attempt to shake the Rapture out of me. Try and kill me by combining it with the spider program. Delgato, you _idiot._ If you were going to attempt murder, the _least_ you could have done was do the damn job right." He deflated further. If anyone was deserving of a good mope-moment, it was him. Miguel O'Hara: god damn coward. "Instead you left me like this... And I haven't got the guts to finish the job for you. Don't know where I was running to. Public eyeballs will be here in a second. There's nothing for me to do now but-"

"REPENT!"

Bewildered, Miguel brought his eyes up to the source of the call. Looking like an angel sent from on high, a man in a heroic cape and costume descended through the hellish plumes of smoke, sunlight at his back, attached to a hang glider. To Miguel, he practically _was_ an angel. A Thorite. A Thor worshiper and imitator, clinging to the old days. Only _those_ fanatics would be so foolhardy as to brave a megacorp's wrath, especially in the middle of a serious disaster that could prove dangerous. Airborne proselytizing wasn't exactly what Miguel would call a sound conversion strategy, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Repent, all of you! Repent, tyrants of Alchemax! A new day is dawning! Our lord Thor will be returning, and he will smite down the frost giants of industry!"

The man wore a black, sleeveless tunic that left his arms and most of his legs bare. On his breast were four circular, metallic studs. An impractically long cape fluttered at his heels, its colour a washed-out red. Held in his left hand was humongous hammer that was strapped in place to his wrist. To complete the look he had a wig of long blond locks tucked under a winged helmet with flight goggles. Miguel had only seen a picture or two of the supposed Norse god of Thunder, so he couldn't compare for accuracy.

"Repent! Repent tyrants of-"

"Hey! Hold on!"

"Huh?"

As the Thorite looped around he finally got a good look at the near-naked figure trying to get his attention. His eyes were puzzled little pinpricks behind his goggles, but Miguel could see every detail of him with freakish perception. Miguel made a mighty leap at the glider, and most importantly, its pilot. Not knowing his own strength, he almost overshot his target altogether. Still, he was able to hold tight to the Thorite with his arms, using his hands as little as humanely possible.

"Hang on, Thorite! You're getting company! Just have to be careful I don't rip your skykite to shreds."

"By Odin's beard!" The Thorite started to descend, both by choice and because of the extra weight. "What manner of being are you?!"

"Come again?" grunted Miguel. At present his focus was on keeping himself alive instead of the man's deliberately odd dialect.

"I said 'WHO THE SHOCK ARE YOU?!'"

"I dunno," Miguel said with a stale tone of voice. Unbidden his eyes rolled to the sky. _As if_ he would give his name out to this complete stranger. "The Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, Spider-Man, take your pick."

"Sp-Spider-Man?!" It shouldn't have come as a surprise to Miguel that the Thorite would latch onto that answer. To these people, the old heroes were a sort of revered pantheon, with Thor often at the top of the hierarchy as a literal god... ostensibly. And Miguel thought his mother's Catholicism had been outlandish as a child. "One of the legendary allies of Thor! At last! The stage is being set! The moment is surely at hand! All hail Spider-Man! All hail the Harbinger of Thor!"

"I should have just let them shoot me," Miguel muttered, tossing an anxious look over his shoulder. The Alchemax building was still a looming presence in the background, but at last it seemed the Public Eyes sweeping it were not an immediate threat. Facing forward again, Miguel was immediately slapped back into his unrelaxing reality. "Steady! STEADY! You're coming in too f-"

The two passengers of the skykite let out grunts as they were slammed into an empty walkway. The glider itself was mangled from the landing, and it took a moment for Miguel to untangle himself from it. The Thorite appeared okay. In fact, he couldn't have looked happier. By nature Miguel was perturbed by his glee, wary of it.

"Sorry I wrecked your skykite pretty good. Maybe you can... I dunno... sew it back together or something," Miguel told him half-apologetically. Truthfully he was just thankful to be alive and not in a cell.

Adjusting his helmet, the Thorite passed Miguel a large stretch of the glider's light-byte material. Ironically enough it evoked the aesthetic of a spider's-web for Miguel, with its nigh-invisible translucency interjected with thicker, overlaying strands. The Thorite thrust it into his hands when he hesitated, instructing him, "Take the cloth with you and use it to mask yourself. The Spider-Man _must_ be masked."

"Good idea. I don't think any of the Public eyeballs saw my face. Best thing to do is cover up before any further risks. Thanks for the lift."

Miguel accepted the man's gift and started to walk off, wrapping it around his head in a sort of high-placed scarf. His newfound "friend" saluted him with a few pendulum swings of his hammer over his head. Hey, he may have been ridiculous, but Miguel couldn't be more grateful for the timing of his appearance.

"It was my honour! And remember! Thor is coming!"

"Yeah swell. I'll set an extra place for him at the table."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **About an hour later...**

On the ground level of the Alchemax building final evacuations were taking place. There were only a few late-night employees lingering behind after the day shifts, so it went smoothly enough. The only problem came from the fact that Alchemax's head quarters were so extensive that it was difficult to find and ferret out everyone. Floating fire control airships drifted by like blimps, hosing down the stubborn, furious flames that remained. At this point the fire was under control and there was little chance of another outbreak or a breakdown of structural integrity. In fact, the evacuation had another purpose entirely.

"Go on about your business! Move along!"

"There's nothing to see here!"

The Public Eye officers on the ground were directing foot traffic, aggressively keeping them clear of the building. Curiosity couldn't beat a lack of bravery, so most onlookers complied. The less spectators that got close, the better, and that included employees. No one could know what had happened here if at all necessary. It wasn't so much a matter of saving face for the company, so much as it was about keeping secret a new, possible asset. Legally the resource was already Alchemax property, evidently created with Alchemax technology, assuming it still existed. All they had to do was retrieve it, lure it out without causing too much of a ruckus.

But then again... a little ruckus might be mandatory. There were no clean victories in war.

A certain, few, privileged individuals had stayed inside Alchemax. They were on the top levels, secure in their position in the company, literally and figuratively. The waning fire was of no concern to them, especially since they had escape contingencies in place in case it spread. One of the individuals left to his devices was Tyler Stone. He sat at his desk, in the middle of a two-way communication with a competitor on his computer.

" _You failed again, Stone. This is all that remains of your assassin_."

Stone didn't even flinch at the sight. They would just have to use better people next time they tried something so bold in a foreign country or corporate boundary.

" _Alchemax standards seem to have deteriorated since my employment in the elite_."

"My dear Tiger Wylde, officially Alchemax denies any connection to the alleged assassin. Your long-ago departure is of little concern to the firm."

" _Don't patronize me, Stone. Your board of directors is very concerned about Latveria, and don't lie. If Alchemax wants war, I'll gladly oblige, and I'll take great satisfaction in personally grinding you into dust._ "

"Tiger Wylde, your threats don't..." Stone blinked, his screen briefly going black. The dictator of Latveria's side of the broadcast wasn't receiving or transmitting anymore. Wylde had hung up on him.

"Damn the man!" snarled Stone. He slammed a hand onto his desk before he switched to watching a video feed on the slim screen of his computer. It was live of the lab that had been destroyed, the former home of O'Hara's "little" genetics project. Nothing substantial could be salvaged from the ruins, but perhaps another prize had survived the catastrophe. A Public Eye forensics team was presently in the middle of an investigation, which Stone took to spectating whilst yelling into a microphone.

"Mabel! Tell Dr. Crane to get his scrawny posterior up here! And where's Venture? I summoned him an hour ago!"

"Venture is in the building, Mr. Stone. He's inspecting the damage site."

Somewhat assuaged, Tyler turned his attention fully to his screen. The statement proved accurate when Stone saw Venture appear on the scene. Venture was an assassin, a hired hunter, and among many other things, a cyborg. He was grizzled looking, with prominent stubble on his jaw. His bandana and stetson hat gave the impression of a cowboy, but it was flawed by the visible cybernetic additions that were visible on his exterior. The most notable enhancements were on his eyes, one appearing as a half-goggle focal lens that helped him to follow targets, and the other being a long, rectangular scanner that was at the most basic level an infrared camera. Its functions were far more advanced than that, however, and it primarily assisted him in tracking body signatures. Under a brown trench-coat and slacks his metallic arms were mostly hidden from view. Who knew which half of him was more dominant: human or machine. Venture's weapons of choice were a type of machine gun on his back and a strange staff at his side.

"Excuse me, one side, please," Stone heard Venture say. There was a sort of tinny, robotic quality to his voice that clashed with a subtle southern accent. The bounty hunter strode through the Public Eye ranks like they were rats underfoot. Their reactions to him varied from awe to downright hostility. At that point Stone screwed his scrutiny to other matters, confident that the man would do his job and do it well.

"What are you doing here, Venture?" asked someone at the site.

"Your job." Venture ignored everything else in the room, gaze inhumanly locked on the hole in the wall. _BLAST EFFECT T17_ _º. FOOTPRINT AFTERIMAGE T17.3_ _º._ A heat record of events was being deciphered in his brain. A few nearby Public Eyes interfered with the picture he was beginning to form, but not enough to ruin the interpretation. _PRONE BODY H.M. T20º._ He leaned out and looked upwards along the building's facade. Within seconds, his robotic components broke down the story that the Public Eyes were trying to decipher.

One officer grasped his gun close to him. "Just stands there, staring. All these "elite" guys give me the creeps."

" _Quiet_ , I bet he can hear you no matter how you whisper," another shot back.

"You'd win your bet," said Venture in parting. The humans in the room showed noticeable signs of relief at his departure. The atmosphere of normality restored, the Public Eye forensic and clean-up crew proceeded to return to their work.

It wasn't long after that Venture came to Tyler Stone's office. Stone appeared to be in the middle of some disciplinary business, so Venture loitered in the doorway to keep from disturbing them. And in any case, he liked to hear a human get chewed out.

"Our spy in Latveria was detected and disposed of, Doctor, despite your assurances to the contrary."

Across from Stone Dr. Crane shivered. "Disposed of? But... but the personal armour we provided should have protected him from-"

"You can take consolation in the fact that from what Tiger Wylde showed me, the armour appears to be in one piece. The _occupant_ , however, is no longer with us," Stone sneered. "I suggest, Doctor, that your future contributions to the Alchemax Intelligence Program be of higher caliber... or there's every possibility that _you_ will no longer be with us as well."

Stone glanced away from the overwrought Doctor as Venture chose that moment to make his entrance. His annoyance was not exclusive to Dr. Crane, as evidenced by his tone when next he spoke. "Ah, Venture. You've arrived, finally."

"I do everything finally."

"Do you have a track on our late-night guest?"

"Yep." Venture never used more words than he had to. Though emotionless, everything he said oozed self-assuredness and an utter confidence in his abilities.

"Are you going to show us, or would you like an engraved invitation?"

Silently, Venture pulled a tiny drive from the metallic components that made up where his ear should be. He uploaded its contents onto a computer, not the small, personal one that Stone had at his desk, but a full-screen behemoth. It took seconds for the reconstruction he'd created from the clues he'd gathered to come up on-screen. On it, a model of a 5-6 foot male human was shown in a variety of overlapping poses in front of the explosion-created opening.

"There's your boy. Everything from before the explosion was wiped by the heat of it. My reconstruct has him lying on his belly first. Whether he was trying to stop your other man from falling, or whether he was trying to shake him loose, can't be determined. Now he's standing, facing your boys..."

"And then he went out the hole, I know. The question is, where did- ah."

The simulation went through the hole and to the other side. Stone couldn't help but smile at the next set of poses that Venture showed him. The 3D figure fell for a time, stopped, then _climbed_ all the way up and past the hole until it was out of range. Stone had suspected as much, but to have it confirmed was a delight. Not only was the mystery individual not dead, but he had ascended. After the heroic types died out just about all at once, recreated metahumans had become an invaluable resource in the corporate wars that each company engaged itself in. It was no easy task to make them and make them useful to boot. Hell, even naturally occurring X-type mutants were nearly an extinct species. Those that claimed to be a part of that minority did so out of a desire for status these days, ironically enough. Times had certainly changed since the "hated and feared" days.

"Now isn't that... interesting. This has definite potential. Too much potential to trust to the Public Eye. This must be handled with delicacy. Can you find him for me, Venture?"

"Make it worth my while, Stone... and I'll drag his butt back from the _moon_ if I have to."

* * *

 **End of Chapter**

 **As a note "jammit" is another 2099 slang alongside "shock". Shock will be alternated with it's f-counterpart here and there depending on the context. Might throw in the infamous "son of a glitch" for the heck of it.**

 **Remember to review, readers! -huggles- Until next time!**


	5. Target

**AN: We're b-back at last. :D Sorry again for the longer wait! Uni is still taking up a lot of time and last chapter didn't get a ton of feedback, so I had to put this half-finished chap on the back burner for a bit. Apologies asipaioopviawe. But here we are! Chapter 5! Enjoy and leave a review~  
**

* * *

 **Target  
**

* * *

 **Babylon Towers...**

"Good morning, Miguel. You have a priority call."

"Tell 'em I died."

"Ok, Miguel," Lyla cooed cheerfully.

It was still dark out, even without the windows blackened. If Miguel had to hazard I guess, he'd say it was about 0600 hours. Miguel groaned and burrowed his head into his pillow, sleep eluding him now that he'd been woken up. Maybe that was a good thing, though. His fitful slumber had been plagued with nightmares, probably from working too hard on that project. Gabriel was right; Alchemax really was an unhealthy work environment, but it paid well and it was all he knew.

 _Aw man, what a dream. Spider powers, talons on my fing..._

Suddenly Miguel's eyes shot open. He sat up and screamed, and screamed and screamed and screamed. Times like these his apartment's soundproof walls really came in handy. This was insane. Last night was real. All _of it._ Miguel's mattress and sheets were a mangled mass, ripped to shreds. Miraculously, Miguel was untouched.

Ever the scientist, Miguel decided to do a little experiment. "Okay," he breathed. "I'll try touching my chest veeeery carefully... maybe..." He yelped when his fingers touched his skin, fully expecting for a second to be grievously punctured. No such thing occurred.

"Well how about that? They retract automatically whenever I touch my own skin. Must be a defense mechanism." He tried it again, fascinated. As he touched himself Miguel observed the downwards facing talons flatten to his fingertips. They were nigh-invisible in this state. "That's good. Otherwise going to the bathroom would be an adventure, and picking my nose would be lethal. So... so if it's a safety reflex of some sort, maybe if I concentrate, I can retract them consciously." Like in all those superhero movies, Miguel thought about it, really really hard. He concentrated until he thought his brain might burst. Nothing. No, wait, they'd twitched back a little. Progress.

"Well... maybe with some practice..." Miguel muttered, getting out of the tattered remains of his bed. It would be a necessity to learn, until he could find some way to cure himself. _If_ there was a cure. He refused to think otherwise. Speaking of his condition...

Moving to a mirror, Miguel began a thorough examination of himself. He'd stumbled in last night, half-conscious, without having a chance to process the probability of his changed appearance before he passed out. Thank _Dios_ he looked the same... for the most part, anyhow. Still the same face and reddish-brown hair. His eyes though... something was off about them. They were still brown, technically, but every once in a while their colour seemed to shift in the light. It called to mind Mr. Sims' sad, dying eyes, red with large pupils. Overall Miguel's eyes weren't too suspicious, but he had a feeling that could be subject to change depending on the lighting. Those talons would be hard to hide, but the fangs were less obvious so long as he didn't show them off.

"Lyla, darken the windows. The sun's killing my eyes."

Making an appearance again, the AI said, "Darkened, Miguel." She complied without question, even though the windows were technically already at half-shade settings. Once that was done, she chirped, "Priority call again."

Disgruntled, Miguel rubbed at his face, feeling the flattened talons faintly on the otherwise smooth texture of his fingertips. From his closet he retrieved a housecoat, which he managed to only minimally cut. It was way too early for this. "Who the shock _is_ it?"

"Your brother, Gabriel."

"Oh, Lord. OK, put it through." There was no avoiding this call; not for forever, anyway. Better to just get it over with before Gabe busted down his door.

Peppy as always, Lyla politely bowed out of existence, her yellow light reconstituting itself into a hologram of Gabriel. As per usual Gabe had his goggles on his head, ready for use. Damn dork. He wasn't even at work. As the call connection established itself, Gabriel's "eyes" found Miguel's. For a moment he just took in the sight of his older brother, postponing the conversation that they were probably both dreading.

"Miguel. Man, you look like toxic waste."

"Thanks, Gabe. What do you _want_?"

"What do I want? Mig, Dana called me last night. She was freaking out. She said _you_ were freaking out. Now _I'm_ freaking out. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing, Gabe. Nothing," absently sighed Miguel as he returned to his closet to carefully riffle through his clothes.

"Like hell. I'm coming over there."

Miguel whipped around to shout, "No! Don't!", but Gabriel had already hung up. In his place Lyla reformed, holding her hands behind her back.

"Transmission broken," Lyla updated him unnecessarily.

"Terrific." He'd already returned to digging through his clothes. At the back was a certain outfit that he found with ease. It was striking, and the spikes on its sleeves stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of the assorted clothing. He hadn't seen this thing for almost a year, let alone considered wearing it again or bothering to sell it off. With significantly less care than what he'd granted to the rest of his apparel, he pulled the outfit from its hanger.

"Y'know, it'll cost me a fortune, but I might have to start buying all my clothes made from Unstable Molecule Fabric. Otherwise, one wrong move and ' _rrrriiiippp_ '." UMF. One of the few surviving inventions of the late Reed Richards. Like the rest of the Fantastic Four, Richards' career in science, superheroing, and _living_ had unceremoniously ended under vague circumstances.

"Only thing I own made from UMF is this death's head costume I bought when I went to Mexico last year for the Day of the Dead festival." Once upon a time the Mexican-Aztec holiday had been a celebration of death, and more importantly an appreciation of life. Presumably it still was, as a concept. But like the rest of the world, most people didn't care about life and death anymore. Only when it concerned their own mortality did they find it in themselves to take an interest. Nowadays the Day of the Dead was a conglomerate of the most intense, crazy, die-hard parties in North America. "Festival can get pretty wild. I wanted something extra sturdy."

After setting the outfit on his bed, Miguel stumbled his way into the kitchen. On the counter he found a pair of round black sunglasses which he promptly put on. He was hungry, but couldn't bring himself to eat. Delgato's slimy face swam in his thoughts. Lyla followed him, immaterial feet ghosting above the floor.

"Maybe I should start wearing it all the time," Miguel contemplated. "The festival celebrates the dead, and my days of being normal are dead. I'm dying by _degrees_. How's that song go? 'If they're going to kill me tomorrow let them kill me once and for all'. Prep coffee, Lyla. Black."

"You seem distressed Miguel. Would a change in my default appearance improve your mood? I have two-hundred and ninety-three appearances and personalities in my file that you have not viewed yet."

"Yeah?" Miguel snatched up his steaming coffee mug from the instant beverage maker. The mug was proudly branded: "WORLD'S GREATEST BRAIN". He had some precious minutes to spare before Gabriel would grill Miguel and gnaw onto the details of his life. Seeing some alternate settings might be entertaining, or if nothing else would pass the time. "Like what?"

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Elsewhere…**

The trail first went dead on a large outside ledge, a result of the tube-frame design on the building. 'Dead' wasn't really the right word. The trail had just gone cold. Venture's target had climbed up there, leaned over the edge for a long enough while to leave a large heat imprint, and then jumped clean off again. By all rights the target should be dead, but the hunt wasn't over until Venture found a body or delivered a live specimen.

Venture scoured the streets surrounding the building next. By now his scanning gadgetry was specifically keyed into the target's unique body signature, effectively blocking out all other organic distractions. It didn't take him long to find where the target had landed, or to figure out how he'd accomplished the feat. A crumpled glider frame laid at Venture's feet, surrounded by fresh footprints from his target.

He followed the trail in a line from the crash site. Though the steps may have started straight, they seem devolved into a meandering mess. Still, there was a sense of purpose to them, a sure direction. His target had been tired, injured even, maybe still was. Regardless he hadn't been in his right mind, and frightened prey always fled back to the familiarity of their home for safety and comfort. Rookie mistake. Venture would flush him out soon enough.

The buildings gradually got nicer and nicer, but Venture paid no mind to his surroundings. His gaze was to the ground, head bowed, hat tipped. Humans walked on either side of him. His machine-like indifference drove them away, parting them like a dike in a river. The track of past steps stretched out before him without an end in sight yet, but Venture was patient. Good things come to those who wait, and all trails must come to an end. Soon, his target would find himself at the end of _his_.

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Back at Babylon Towers...**

"C'mon, ya slacking slag off! Get your butt in gear!"

Lyla's newest trial state was the loudest of them yet. Where once had stood his typical holo resembling a nostalgic-twencen celebrity, now bellowed the visage of a punk-rocker. The hair at the top of his head stuck up every which way, a long ponytail flowing down from the rest of the chaos. Spikes embedded in shoulder pads and arm gauntlets covered his leather jacket. Miguel tilted his head slightly, intrigued by this setting that seemed intent on insulting him into action. It was definitely refreshing, if a little grating on the ears.

 _"_ What're ya sittin' around mopin' for, ya piece of-"

"That's quite enough, Lyla."

"Ok Miguel," Lyla's voice returned, giggling through the mouth of the aggressively-dressed holo. It was like this was all a game to her. AI's weren't supposed to be playful, if they were even able, but to Lyla it came naturally. Without further ado she changed again, this time appearing as a well-dressed, balding butler. Her voice was male again, and heavily English in its accent.

"Ahem," he coughed. "Certainly, sir, an individual of your breeding and taste can put his intellect to greater use than _sulking_."

"Next."

"But I'm right, right?" hummed Lyla, morphing from the older man into an even older woman. The woman's weathered face was kindly and sweet. Infuriatingly so. She wore a long, straight skirt and a baggy cardigan. When she spoke, her voice trembled with simulated age but dripped with honey and concern.

"I know! Instead of that nasty coffee, I'll make you some warm milk and some of my chewy brownies. Meantime, you go put on a warm sweater. You're so fragile... I worry about you so."

Right leg crossed over the other, Miguel brought the coffee cup up to his lips to sip at its contents. It somewhat washed down the disgust he was experiencing. " _Kill_ that one."

The setting blinked out of existence before Lyla reappeared as her regular self, in all her golden and flirtatious glory. She adjusted her dress and puffed up her hair, virtually preening with pride at the show she'd produced. "Gabriel is here. Shall I let him in?"

Grimly, Miguel braced himself from his position on the long, built-in couch that hugged his living room window. "If you don't he'll just chew his way through the door. Go ahead."

As soon as the sliding door was open Gabriel O'Hara charged through, hands and pointed fingers flying all over the place in a passion. Already he was rambling, ranting, raving. Questions and demands for answers flowed forth from his mouth like a tidal wave. He was still wearing dark green gloves from work, not to mention his constant goggles that were practically a permanent feature of his forehead by now. Miguel barely moved as he entered, reclining back and resting his head against his right palm, ready to ride out the storm. There was no reasoning or calming Gabriel in this state.

"Okay, Mig. You want to tell me what's going on? Why's it so dark in here? What's happened to you? What did that 'company' of yours do to you? Dana said you were strung out on Rapture."

"Whatever happened to 'Hi big brother, how's it going'?"

"Why are you _mumbling_?"

"Because I've grown fangs, and if I open my mouth too wide you'll see them," Miguel intoned monotonously. "Now will ya shut up for a minute?"

Used to such antics from his older brother, Gabriel simply snorted. "Ha, ha. _Very_ funny." He leaned over the seated Miguel, one hand on the pull-out tabletop for eating while the other continued to gesture. His eyes narrowed in seriousness, a protective but firm scowl coming across his face. "Look, I know you're short-tempered. Me too. When you're half Mexican, half Irish, you're not gonna be Mr. Sweetness and Light. But you have to be _square_ with me."

"Okay, look. I _was_ on Rapture, yeah," Miguel admitted, posture stubborn. He was resolute in looking past Gabriel, never meeting his eyes through the sunglasses. God, why he took this shit from his younger brother, he'd never know. Gabriel was a worse nag than Mom. "But I beat it. Okay? Problem solved."

Blessed silence settled over the room at last. Gabriel's jaw dropped, word dying in his throat and eyes bulging incredulously. Miguel savoured the seconds of no-sound, counting up to a solid fifteen before Gabriel recovered from his shock, louder than ever.

"NOBODY beats Rapture! It bonds GENETICALLY! I'm no big-brain scientist like _you_ , but _you're_ the one who told me that!"

"Well, I was wrong. Even big brains have off days," said Miguel dismissively.

Between hearing Gabriel freak like a mother hen and feeling his forearms start to itch, Miguel was becoming increasingly irritated. It was evident that his new mutation wasn't quite finished with Miguel's body. The initial itch was quickly becoming intolerable, less of an inconvenience and more of an aggravation. It was like someone was slowly dragging razor wire through his muscles.

Gabriel took a deep breath to settle his voice, speaking more softly and persuasively now. "Mig, I know you feel some degree of loyalty to Alchemax. They found you, educated you, shot you through the ranks, gave you free reign. And you've been willing to turn a blind eye to what they're all about because of that. But you can't keep _doing_ that."

Annoyed and only half-paying attention, Miguel shifted to pout out the window at his back. Something he saw with his new, wacked vision caught him off guard. He did a double-take, not hearing Gabriel at all at this point. Shaken, he stood and lifted his glasses to get a better, second look. Gabriel followed, still speaking.

"It's a bad place Miguel, with bad people."

Miguel's field of vision seemed to zoom in on the closest streets, zeroing in on the focal point that had caught his interest. Hundreds of stories melted away, and the specks of pedestrians formed fully-fledged figures. Set aside from the rest of the foot traffic, one specific figure made Miguel shiver. He was striking, and there was no mistaking who he was. _Venture_ , Miguel's mind confirmed.

"The corporate raider program... it's evil, Mig, it's _wrong_ , it's-"

Spinning on his heel, Miguel interjected abruptly, "We're done talking, Gabri."

"Wha- _NO_ we're not?!" Gabriel protested, but his brother was already ushering him to the door. Eager to return to the window where his enemy was visible, Miguel kept casting furtive glances over his shoulders.

"Yes, we are. I'll call you later," said Miguel distractedly, words coming out as hurried, short-lived bursts. It wasn't safe for his family to be here anymore. A firm shove sent Gabriel out, the door starting to slide close once he was over the threshold. "And Gabe... watch your back. Bye."

"But... But..." Bemused, Gabriel could only scramble for words before he was locked out. On the other side, the shaken elder brother pressed his palms and back flat against the door, feeling Gabriel bang and rail against the door. Moving away, Miguel heard Gabriel's muffled voice curse in parting, "Miguel! You fuck! You didn't have to tear my jacket!" After that there was only the sound of Gabriel's retreat. Miguel's mind was on other matters, however, namely the highly-qualified bounty hunter parading around his neighbourhood.

 _I was right_ , Miguel internally screamed, returning to his window to watch his approaching doom. _That's_ Venture _down there._

Miguel easily recognized the cyborg from browsing the Alcehemax "Elite Corps" file in his free time. He recalled that Venture had a psionically enhanced heat tracker, one that made him better than any bloodhound. There was no way to evade him, now. Venture would follow him straight up to his apartment, to the ends of the Earth, even. The only thing to do was to get out of there, and fast. But what good would running do in the long run? Regardless of Miguel getting away for the moment, he'd be nailed when the trail lead to his personal residence. Unless...

Venture wasn't looking for Miguel O'Hara. His target was the Spider-Man who escaped from the Alchemax building. The only way to put him off the track of the former was to give him the latter. Christ, this was crazy, but it was his only shot, and if it worked...

Movements frenzied, Miguel sprinted back to his bedroom, shedding his housecoat and glasses by the wayside. He plucked up his old _Día de los Muertos  
_ costume with one hand, and with the other gathered up the shimmering section of glider textile from where he'd abandoned it last night. The light byte cloth from the Thorite's skysail wouldn't be enough to keep him fully aloft, but with the combination of updrafts and his own newfound agility, it _might_ be enough to keep him alive...

"Lyla! Where's that handheld quick-sealer?!" he hollered, nearly tripping over some stairs in his haste.

"On your workbench, Miguel," Lyla reminded him patiently. In contrast to her frantic, human charge, the golden hologram seemed quite at peace.

Miguel dashed to the table and scrambled for the device, buried beneath all manner of contraptions. Clumsily, he lined the edges of the advanced glider piece up with the shoulders and arms of the costume, then started to drag the sealer along the fringe to connect the two types of cloth. A firm tug confirmed that the individual components were irreversibly fused together.

Almost falling over his own feet, Miguel stepped into the legs of the costume and brought it up to his chest. A few kicks from a position on his back finally got his legs through the skin-tight material and cemented his feet in the inner-shoe-like structures that were supposed to protect his soles from walking. He wriggled his arms through the appropriate holes on the second try, almost tangling it backwards. The claws on his hands and feet showed obviously through the black-blue of the outfit, but the UMF was unyielding to their keen edges. Lastly, Miguel pulled the separate mask segment over his head. It flattened the curls of his hair to his head and was tricky to see through under ordinary circumstances, but with Miguel's new sensitivity of sight, the mask over his eyes was more of a convenience than a handicap.

Ready as he was ever going to be, and feeling rather ridiculous, Miguel ran to his curved bedroom windows. He screeched, "Lyla! Open the window!"

"The windows don't _open_ , Miguel. They're sealed for tenants' protection," calmly responded Lyla.

Oh, shock that was right. He was on a top floor of Babylon Towers, one of the tallest apartment complexes in Nueva York. No duh, the damn windows didn't open. Mind scrambling, Miguel backtracked to the door of his bedroom and braced himself for what he was about to do. His new spider-strength and the UMF should be sufficient to save him. Time was wasting. He needed out _now_.

"Miguel... I'm concerned about your safety," Lyla started, just as the windows crashed open in a cascade of glass.

Miguel flailed in mid-air, arms awkwardly outstretched. At first his form had been dramatic enough, but then he was falling ass-first with his bent legs over his head, and soon after the other way around. Style was the least of his concerns, though. What really grabbed his attention was the rapidly approaching street. He did his best to aim for the oblivious cyborg while still trying to slow his descent.

"All right," he told himself, his heart a jackhammer in his chest cavity. "The updrafts should catch the light byte cloth right about... _NOW!_ "

Nothing. Venture was less of a speck now and more of a doll. Miguel gritted his teeth.

"I _said_... right about... **_NOW! I SAID..._** "

Venture started to look up. Though he still couldn't see his quarry, the heat impressions were getting stronger, alerting him that he was closing in. The last thing he expected was to be drop-kicked to the floor by a flying man in a cape. Face-receptors ringing with simulated pain, the cyborg fell over with a surprised sound. The computer enhancements to his mind were whirling with new sensory information and recommended courses to take, so for now, he just sat there, stunned.

Meanwhile, Miguel was just grateful to be alive. It was a good thing the glider material had finally kicked in, or else his escape attempt would have been ruled suicide. He felt like screaming 'hallelujah' into the heavens, and he wasn't even religious. That would be a premature celebration, however. The worst of it wasn't over yet; far from it.

Using the momentum from his first blow, Miguel kicked off from Venture and landed sideways on an overhang. It was a pedestrian bridge, packed with people both below and above it. They all stopped in their tracks to investigate what was going on, dumbfounded by the sight before them. Upon jumping, some part of Miguel's mind had opened, like a vault full of knowledge and instincts that weren't quite his. It hadn't exactly taken over, but in that moment, he'd known exactly what to do, just like he had when falling from Alchemax. His talons were plowed into the special cement of the bridge's side. Through them and some strange combination of sheer willpower, he'd stuck effortlessly. His body splayed out, spider-like, but nothing had ever felt more natural.

 _Ok... caught him flatfooted. Now... have to say something that will shake him up and show him who's_ **boss** _. And not let him know that I'm terrified out of my skull... Something like... like..._

Spider-Man adjusted his wide stance into a crouch, clutching a clawed fist over the bounty hunter below. "Hi," he squeaked.

 _...That wasn't it._

* * *

 **End of Chapter  
**

 **It's hard to illustrate in a non-visual medium, but the old woman Lyla turns into is in fact a direct reference to Aunt May, lol. The point of that moment (besides being humourous ofc) is to demonstrate the difference between Miguel and Peter, I believe.  
**

 **Next chapter: Venture. One, long, arduous, chapter-long fight. Ho boi.**

 **Reviews are greatly appreciated and directly correlate with my writing speed (other factors notwithstanding)!**


	6. Venture

**AN: We're at the point where Miguel's name will be inconsistently interchanged with Spider-Man more and more frequently depending on the context/my fancy. Hopefully it's not confusing/annoying? Sorry if it is eep.**

 **Some more mixed Venture and Miguel POV with some Gabriel thrown in at the end. Gotta say I've always liked Gabe. He's coo'.**

 **Also, this fic is on AO3! It's just behind a few chapters.**

* * *

 **Venture**

* * *

 **Northern District, Uptown Nueva York...**

Just as Venture was recovering, there was another disturbance from under the bridge. A group of Thorites, dressed as some of their Norse idols, surged from the crowd and into the light. Many were wearing helmets, some with horns, others with ribbons coming off the top. Most had hammers. The only glorified cosplay that Miguel recognized was a woman wearing a Thor likeness. At first Miguel was bemused by their appearance, until he realized with dread that they were coming between him and the bounty hunter. Miguel had read enough of the Alchemax archives on Venture to know what he was capable of. He knew that the cyborg would tear them to shreds, if it suited him.

"Thou art an enemy of the Harbinger of Thor!" the ringleader's voice rang out in challenge, rallying his comrades to him. "That makes thee our enemy as well! Prepare to be thoroughly smited!"

Good grief. That Thorite on the skykite must've already started to spread rumours about Spider-Man's "return" to his peers. Might've posted the entire story to his social media blog or something. By now it'd probably reached legend status amongst these people, knowing them. Miguel couldn't really blame them for clinging onto hopes, no matter how ridiculous they seemed to him, but right now their well-being was a major concern.

Miguel snarled at them from his perch, "Get _back_ you idiots! You don't know what you're dealing with!"

All Miguel wanted to do was try to throw Venture off his scent, but then these Thor-worshipers had come along and complicated things. He didn't know where they'd popped up from, and he didn't much care. The city seemed to be crawling with them these days. What he _did_ know was that if they tried to slug it out with Venture, there would be a blood bath. On that point, Miguel was painfully right.

The glory-seeking, would-be defenders threw themselves at Venture, only to be batted aside like flies. To their credit, they didn't give up easily. One dropped down on Venture's back, seizing his coat and trying to swing his hammer at the cyborg's head. Up front, his buddy attacked as a distraction, and got a lump up the side of the head for his trouble. Nonplussed, Venture hurled the Thorite from his back by the very hammer he'd been holding, then threw him into the next attacker. The Thorites kept coming, the onlookers wincing and gasping at the brutality ensuing in front of them, but all the same not running or assisting. Some were even recording. Miguel wasn't much better. He crouched, a clawed hand outstretched helplessly. It was _horrible_.

"I can keep this juggling act going all day, son. 'Less it bores me. Then people start _dying_ ," said Venture. His voice was blunt, gruff, and maddeningly sage-like. Already Miguel hated him, moreso than before.

Venture thrust out two hands, knocking out two Thorites at the same time, the female Thor being one of them. His staff hit her, lighting up for a moment and making her shriek. More fanatics took their place, while another one dragged his downed comrades away and out of danger. At last Venture was open.

"You want their deaths on your conscience, son? Maybe _you_ can live with it, but _they_ can't."

Miguel bristled against the bridge, feeling his blood heat up under the skin-tight suit. "What I want..." He vaulted from the overhang, tensed muscles uncoiling like wound springs. "Is to be left alone!"

Unflappable, Venture let his target come to him. When he was close enough, the Cyborg thrust out his empty arm and hit the Man-Spider in the chest with the flat of it, knocking the air out of him. He flung the superhuman head over heels, letting the momentum of his leap carry him over. Venture's other arm, the one with the staff, jabbed at Miguel. Once more the end of the staff lit up for a split-second, humming with energy. It hit his wrist, and the ensuing sting laced up Miguel's arm like a barbed hot-iron. He yelped loudly, tumbling out of range.

"You've got guts, son. I'll give you that. But you've obviously got no style, no experience." Venture strode closer, kicking aside a groaning Thorite in his path. "And _no_ chance."

Dazed, Miguel floundered to his knees and looked fearfully over his shoulder. He gripped his arm, wincing under the mask at the pin-pricking sensation the action caused. He hated to admit it, but Venture was right. His rod had nerve-numbed Miguel's right arm, and he was just getting started. The aghast and somehow entertained bystanders milled around behind Venture as he closed in, not knowing who to root for.

"Alchemax wants your black-clad butt, and I'm here to bring it to them. If you want to make this tough, it'll only be tough on you," announced Venture intimidatingly.

 _This is_ insane, Miguel reasoned to himself. Cradling his injured arm, he stood to face his opponent once again, stance low as though he wanted to flee. _The last time I was in a serious fight, I was six years old... And I got_ clobbered. _And now I'm trying to slug it out with Alchemax's number one hired Cyborg? What was I thinking?! Maybe..._ Miguel swallowed, adam's apple bobbing and shoulders sagging. _Maybe Alchemax will cut me a break. Maybe if I surrender, we can work things out. I can talk to them. Talking's my strong point, not heroics._

About to give up but anxious to do so, Miguel backed up a step. He still couldn't move or feel his right arm, while his left arm itched something fierce. Enough was enough. The smart, survival-oriented part of his personality knew it was time to pack it in. Venture eyed him coolly, completely collected. He sensed that his target was on the brink of surrendering, but perhaps he just needed another nudge to cement his decision. The opportunity for that nudge came in the form of a Thorite sneaking up behind Venture. The man might've gone undetected, if not for Venture's heat-tracking function and his poorly-timed battle cry.

"Well, 'Spider-Man'?" Venture drawled, just as the Thorite lifted his hammer in preparation to strike.

"In the name of Thor, God of Thunder, I-"

His patience for these meddling antics at an end, Venture whipped around and brutally cross-checked the young man in the gut with his staff. Wheezing and spitting from the force behind the rod's length, the Thorite buckled over. A second swipe aimed at his ankles swept him off his feet.

"Shut up, kid! I wasn't talking to you. In fact," Venture turned his staff vertically and stabbed it downwards. His machine-enhanced strength propelled the end of it into the Asgardian-dressed mortal. Skin, muscles, and bone yielded, the broken body emitting a sickening crunch. In a bored manner, Venture leaned on the weapon and twisted it ever so slightly. "You're such a waste of protoplasm, I don't think anyone will benefit from talking to you."

" _Grrrkh_!" the man gasped before he went limp.

Venture yanked the staff the staff free of the cadaver and brought it up to eye-level. Casually, he flicked the blood dripping off it in Miguel and the appalled Thorites' general direction. "In case you thought I was kidding, Spider-Man... I don't kid, and I don't scare. But I don't think you can say the same. I can smell your fear from here, and you're smart to be scared."

Aghast and stunned, the Thor-wearing-woman wailed, "Balder's dead! He's dead! The first sign of the end is upon us!"

Venture directed his next words to her, her companions, and the masked man. "Hey, kill one of you or all of you... makes no difference to me. I'm on overtime. How many more that'll die will depend entirely on the man in black."

Miguel's eyes travelled up from the corpse to the expectant cyborg. Silent and shivering, he shrank into a half-squat. His one hand still hung limp at his side, but the other slowly opened and closed into a fist. Without warning, Spider-Man launched himself at the murderer with legs bent outwards.

"Well, now this is just plain stupid, son. You don't have to prove anything to me, in fact, you can't..." said Venture. He sidestepped and took a swing at Spider-Man, but Miguel dropped into a wide stance and ducked, one hand on the ground for support. "...Except that maybe you aren't as smart as I thought you w-" While Venture was off balance, Spider-Man hurled himself upwards at the bounty hunter and rammed his fist into his jaw, eliciting a pained grunt.

" _Shut up!_ " Spider-Man spat at him before jumping onto an adjacent building, then springing from there onto a pole. Venture promptly recuperated, retrieving the gun on his back and levelling it at Spider-man's retreating form.

"Hit and run, eh?" Squinting, he swiftly undid the safety and aimed. "Not the way a real man does business."

A blast of blistering heat and light turned the spot where Spider-Man had been a second before into molten magma. Spider-Man felt the hairs on the back of his head rise at the close call. This guy was playing for keeps, now. All Venture needed to do was drag him to Alchemax, half-alive if needed, where he could be fixed up at a later time. He had to hurry, had to ignore Venture's yammering. It was designed to distract him, and so far it'd worked.

 _Do this by the numbers. Go back to your original plan._ Namely, the plan was to retrace the path he took when he was just plain, confused Miguel O'Hara, staggering home with his brand new spiderpowers. That was the heat path Venture was tracing, the path that would have brought him straight to Miguel's apartment. By double-tracing over it, Miguel would wipe it out. _Hopefully it won't occur to Venture that I'm following my_ own _trail. After all, I'd have to be out of my mind to deliberately lead him right to my place. At least, I hope that's what he thinks. Otherwise I'm_ **dead.**

Spider-Man kept ping-ponging between points, desperately dodging shots from the flying cyborg on his tail. Wait, _flying_?! He fleetingly glanced over his shoulder to check the authenticity of what he'd seen. Venture was indeed hovering with the aid of jet boots, closing in fast. Oh, shock. Miguel didn't remember reading _that_ in the file. Filled with even more urgency than before, Miguel made his way to back to Babylon Towers. He charged through the lobby and coincidentally ran into a familiar face leaving just at that moment.

"OUT OF THE WAY!" Spider-Man yelled at Gabriel O'Hara. His surprised younger brother bent over sideways to avoid the costumed man jumping over his head, then flailed to the other side when Venture blazed past him with his jet boots seconds later. Gabriel seemed OK, and that was all that mattered to Miguel, besides keeping himself alive. Unlike Miguel, Venture had no interest in Gabe.

By the time Venture was inside the lobby Miguel had already gotten in his regular elevator, which skyrocketed through all the preceding levels until it got to his own. On the bottom floor, Venture could see Spider-Man's body heat move through the shaft. He pressed his lips together in a thin line. _He's running scared. Thinks he can hide. Poor kid, I almost pity him._

"Welcome to Babylon Towers, sir, may I be of assistance?" the well-dressed concierge stuttered.

"No," answered Venture shortly, getting into his own elevator.

Whilst waiting for the indicator panel to hit his floor, the east tower's two-hundred-and-fifty-second floor, to be exact, Miguel contemplated how foolish he felt in this costume. He must've looked ridiculous. Wearing it in Mexico for the Day of the Dead festival was one thing, with everyone else dressed up somewhat similarly, but this... Well, so long as nobody recognized him, he would worry about living first and fashion later.

No sooner had Miguel gotten off, then Venture blasted through the doors of the neighbouring elevator. " _AAACKK_ ," Spider-Man cried, tumbling forward from the sudden force of the explosion. Convalescing quickly through the aid of adrenaline, Spider-Man sprang to his feet and sprinted for cover. Yep, his mode of dress was definitely the least of his problems right now.

He didn't see Venture emerge from the flames of the elevator, but he heard him speak. "Taking lives is bad enough, but now you're forcing me to use plasma bolts on innocent machinery just to get to you, son. When's it going to end?"

It was much easier at this point to block out Venture's taunts and threats. Swiftly and with surprisingly strength, Spider-Man ripped his door free from its frame. After all, he couldn't have the door suspiciously open _for_ him as the registered owner of the unit. With the door tossed to the side, Spider-Man darted inside just as another bolt blazed into the apartment behind him. Without the protection of the UMF, Spider-Man was sure that the shot would've singed his skin and blistered his back.

Lyla started her spiel immediately upon his entry. There was no hiding who he was from _her_ , costume or no costume, especially since she had seen him put it on earlier. "Hello, Miguel. You're home early. You have two calls from-"

" _NOT NOW!_ " Flinching from another blast, Miguel ran through her and into his bedroom, hands over his head. The sight of a shattered window pane was there to greet him when he got there. Lyla had followed him all the while, projecting herself beside him. Venture was literally lacking seconds on overtaking Spider-Man's lead, so he had to be quick.

"Lyla, _listen_!" barked Spider-Man sternly. Lyla perked up posthaste, almost like a soldier at attention. With firm emphasis, Spider-Man pointed at the window he'd broken prior to this whole game of cat-and-mouse. "I want you to point right there and repeat after me: 'There was a horrible man in black! And he went through _there_!' Okay Lyla? Good girl!" With that out of the way, Spider-Man forthwith flung himself from his window, falling for the second time that day.

Venture arrived the moment his target was gone, and Lyla was there to receive him with her freshly programmed performance. "There was a horrible man in black!" she told him, gesturing to the empty window frame. "And he went through there-!"

"I can see that, _thanks_." Venture peered out and dipped the barrel of his gun over the window sill.

At the Cyborg's back, Lyla flashed a winning grin. "-Okay Lyla? Good girl!"

Not thinking much of the AI-Holo's parting comment, Venture activated the jets in his feet and followed after his prey. It didn't take long to see him. In fact, he was hard to miss. Spider-Man was about halfway down to the bottom of Babylon Towers, but Venture was in hot pursuit.

This may have only been Spider-Man's third sky-dive of his lifetime, but by grace of necessity and haste he was getting the hang of it. It was still awkward, but he was able to angle the sophisticated light byte material with much more ease to utilize updrafts. His arms were extended to help facilitate this process, claws raking the air. The few interspersed anti-grav particles the "cape" contained were of a great help. Even if his limbs sometimes swung about wildly, Spider-Man found he could keep himself almost entirely upright when he wanted, or plunge head-first for more speed.

The numbness had worn off on Spider-Man's arm, but now _both_ forearms itched like the devil. It was so intense at this point that it was almost painful, and impossible to ignore. Like barbs, needling in and out of his flesh. He'd noticed the sensation earlier in his apartment with Gabriel, but hadn't had much chance to think on it. The feeling, whatever it was, filled Spider-Man with a sense of pessimistic dread. _What the hell is going_ on? _Am I going to sprout more arms or something?_

"You can't escape, son!" called Venture after him.

"For someone who's so positive I can't escape, you sure keep mentioning it a lot." Finally, Spider-Man landed daintily on a floating traffic controller. It had a light and a few advertisements attached to it, one of which Spider-Man clung to.

Venture shrugged to himself. "Well, you got me there, son. Actually, I'm talking to keep myself awake during your 'escape attempts', It's more polite than just _yawning_." On that last word, Venture's gun shredded a sizzling hole straight through the "SAY NO TO PLUGS" sign that had previously been Spider-Man's perch. Not for the first time that day, Spider-Man found himself remarkably adept at dodging. He grabbed the bottom of the billboard and swung off it like it was a monkey bar, out of sight.

 _I wonder if I get on people's nerves this much when I mouth off as Miguel?_ thought Spider-Man, steaming. He slipped behind a glowing "ALCHEMAX" sign, then scuttered to the other side to try and catch Venture off-guard again. He felt in his element, here, hiding and letting his foe come to _him_ rather than being on the run. Venture was still hovering around him, circling like a tiger on the prowl, in search of some sort of sign of Spider-Man's whereabouts. Stumped at where his fast-footed target had gotten off to, the cyborg turned his back to Miguel's hiding spot, head twisting this way and that.

"I'm running out of warning shots, son. My goal is to bring you back in one piece... But if it's several pieces, then that's your choice- _UNNH!_ "

Taking his chance, Spider-Man used the sign like a springboard and landed a single, devastating punch right across Venture's scruffy mug. Spit flew from his mouth, and Spider-Man felt something dent. Although the bounty hunter's boots maintained his altitude, the force of Spider-Man's wallop sent him careening backwards. He wobbled in the air for a while before regaining his equilibrium. Spider-Man was watching him, stretched out on all fours on another billboard, but at seeing Venture sneer in his direction he was already starting to scurry away. Venture was having none of that.

"Nice move, son. Skittered back around the other side and bush-whacked me. Good thinking," said Venture in a commentative tone. He came closer, readying his nerve-numbing rod. When Spider-Man made to jump, the cyborg was already upon him. He darted in, activated his staff, and slashed it in a small arc at Spider-Man's chest. It instantly lit up and Spider-Man screamed. Venture jabbed him again for good measure, the motion not unlike that of a shock-stick used for animal control. In a way, his staff was more of a glorified stun-gun baton, but it got the job done.

"Now, if you'd done some good thinking _before_ wrecking an Alchemax lab, you might have avoided some serious shit."

The contact had been quick, but enough. Spider-Man felt almost his entire body go numb, spreading out from the epicentre of the staff's connection at his chest. Pins and needles played across his skin, and his limbs became limp at their furthest extremity. Dazed, Spider-Man dropped. For a time, Venture let him fall.

"As it is, you're done," he gloated. Before swooping in to save Spider-Man from becoming a smear on the sidewalk, Venture made sure to rummage for something in his jacket. The thing he was looking for turned out to be a strange, yellow compartment, small and compact. With a lazy underhand toss, he loosed it at the winded superhuman. Upon touching his target the compartment expanded outwards, spewing out its contents of thick bands and loose streamers made from some strong element. Faster than the eye could accurately track, the bands turned into bonds, smoothly winding around the contours of Spider-Man's body and shaping themselves accordingly. They constricted snugly, but not enough to be suffocating.

Spider-Man writhed as Venture snatched him out of the air like a kitten. He carried his captured quarry by the end of his rod, fitting it easily through the bonds that covered Spider-Man's ankles. The fastenings likewise automatically attached themselves to the staff, adding an extra layer of security. Spider-Man's arms were pinned across his chest, like a straitjacket, and his legs were bound together so tight that he might as well be hogtied. This didn't stop Spider-Man from struggling, but it was supremely strenuous even without his body reeling from effectively being tasered.

"LET ME _GO!_ " His tongue may have been numb, but Miguel's demand rang loud and clear. Venture was less than impressed. The cyborg's mind was miles away, on the money and other rewards awaiting him at Alchemax. The mission was over.

"No can do, son. For what it's worth, you gave me the longest workout I've had in a while. Rejoice in the little victories, Spider-Man. But the big one is all mine."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Earlier... Babylon Towers...**

 _Drop dead, Miguel_ , thought Gabriel O'Hara grumpily. The digital programmer and animator, and former full-time net glider, was pissed. He strode down the last lobby steps, head downturned, hands in his pockets, lost in thought.

Ever since they were kids Gabriel had had a bad feeling about his brother's job. Only recently had his newest girlfriend Kasey helped Gabriel to put a finger on that feeling, and what it meant. From the moment that Tyler Stone's company limo had come for Miguel all those years ago, Gabriel had known deep down that Alchemax wasn't good for him. Wasn't good for anyone, although Miguel insisted it was a necessary evil. That was another thing that bugged Gabriel about Miguel. Miguel was always right, and if the answer was subjective, then he was always right in his mind.

Well, he wasn't right about this.

Maybe it'd been a blessing that the prodigy, golden child Miguel had gone off to lose his humanity, while artsy and meek Gabriel had been left at home. Sure, he'd been underappreciated by their Dad, since he wasn't bringing in Alchemax benefits, but Mamá had always preferred Gabriel. That still didn't stop a swell of jealousy in Gabriel, thinking back on those days. Under that undercurrent, though, Gabriel was both grateful and saddened on Miguel's behalf. He'd rather be himself than some disillusioned supergenius, trapped in the corporate machine. Shame that Miguel didn't see it that way.

Those people would eat him up alive, or what was left of him, anyway. Alchemax might've already swallowed most of Miguel's morality whole. Miguel didn't talk much about work, but from what Gabriel could gather, none of it was entirely ethical. He must've finally gotten spooked though, if they'd broken out the _Rapture_...

That call from Dana last night had been both terrifying and expected. Dana had once been his girlfriend, and even if their romance hadn't ended on the best of terms, they had retained the best parts of their relationship. Now she was more like a sister to him, especially now that she and Miguel were engaged. He'd be lying if he said there weren't any lingering feelings there, but the both of them had moved on for the better. It'd hurt to hear her so scared, but somehow, Gabriel had been waiting on news like this. Something bad had been bound to happen, eventually. Miguel's involvement with a ruthless megacorp would blow up in his face, either before or after Kasey's predicted revolution. Gabriel wanted to save him, since Miguel certainly wouldn't save himself.

 _We're supposed to be brothers, but you treat me like-_

Gabriel's thought broke off. He paused at the top of the outdoor entrance stairs. A flash of black, blue, and red flashed across his field of vision. The sound of distant jets rocketed in his ears. Two colourful figures were headed his way. "Huh?" he said, just as all chaos erupted.

"OUT OF THE WAY!"

The masculine figure in front vaulted straight over Gabriel. He was in full-body costume that felt familiar to Gabriel, though only later would he have time to fully think on it. He'd shouted something at Gabriel, and though the content was a generic warning, the source had struck a chord in Gabe. _That voice..._ Muffled as it was, it meant something to Gabriel. He didn't have much time to ponder it as the costumed lunatic bounded overhead. They were so close that their clothes brushed together. Alarmed, Gabriel leaned over, almost falling.

"Move it or lose it, boy. I'm in pursuit here," a vastly different voice commanded.

Seconds later Gabe was forced to clumsily sidestep out of the path of the first figure's pursuer. This one was wearing a long brown coat and a stetson hat. Gabriel didn't get a good look at his face, but his getup screamed "cowboy". It called to mind all the "Old West" models Gabriel had been utilizing in his latest commission. The heat from the second person's metal boots almost scorched Gabriel's jacket, and Gabriel let out a wordless yell. Neither chaser nor chasee ever looked back.

Gabriel turned in time to see duster-wearing-guy head into an elevator. The closing doors blocked him off from view, but at last Gabriel got a look at his face. What he saw made him shudder slightly. _Cyborg._ A crazed cyborg, in Miguel's building, chasing...

Gabriel blinked. The outfit, the agility, the voice... "It... it can't be. Was that...?"

No goddamn way.

Before Gabriel knew it he was barrelling back inside. He barged through a few other people, including the speechlessly mortified secretary. Public Eyes were already swarming around outside, like a disturbed hornets' nest. Whoever those two loonies were, they'd attracted a lot of attention. Speaking of them, they'd both went up the elevator shaft. Gabe had to follow, get up to Miguel's place, _fast_. There were plenty of unused, undamaged elevators, so Gabriel picked the nearest one.

"Holee shock," he muttered to himself. What a mess. Gabriel's mind was racing a mile a minute. All he could do was repeat: _get to Miguel's place, get to Miguel's place..._

The elevator couldn't seem to move fast enough. Immediately upon exiting Gabriel could smell and see smoke on Miguel's floor. Not a good sign, and not likely by chance that of the hundreds of floors... Some of Gabriel's initial suspicions were confirmed when he saw the smoke curling in tendrils from Miguel's apartment. The door was carelessly tossed to the side like a piece of trash. The kitchen-lounge was an absolute mess; Gabriel rushed through it without much sightseeing. _God damn it, Miguel. Your luck is shocking shit._

"Lyla!" he hollered, poking his head into the bedroom. The LYrate Lifeform Approximation stood demurely in the center of the devastated room, a broken window at her back. She greeted him with an inhumanely composed smile. Miguel was nowhere in sight.

"Hello, Gabriel. Your weight's increased by 2.3 pounds. Have you changed your dietary habits?"

Breathing and coughing through his sleeve, Gabriel carefully entered the bedchamber. For right now, the AI-generated holo was his only available witness, his only means of deciphering this shit show. "Lyla, what's going _on_?"

Nonchalantly, Lyla pointed a slender finger over her shoulder. "There was a horrible man in black, and he went through there. _Okay,_ Lyla? Good girl," she recited, almost robotic-like. As if pleased with herself, the hologram draped her bent arms over her golden locks. Gabriel came to stand directly in front of her, a hand on his hip, the other jerking at the window in question.

"Lyla... _What. Happened_?"

"Destruction of private property. Building service maintenance 'bots have been notified. Full door and window repair and cleanup is projected to be completed within thirty-seven minutes."

"But why?!" pressed Gabriel in frustration.

"Because the repairs on elevator #2 take priority. Normally door and window repair and cleanup would be completed within sixteen minutes."

"Lyla, where's _Mig_?"

"Not at home," she chirped, as though confident in her helpfulness. Gabriel was less than satisfied, however.

 _Dios_ , _could she be any more damn vague?_ he thought sarcastically, then said, "When did you last see him?"

"Five point three minutes ago."

Gabriel blinked at the specificity. _I stand corrected_. Lyla's answers tended to either be too nebulous to be of any help, or too elaborate when it came to useless details. Now came the moment of truth. Gabriel took a deep breath, his eyes piercing the yellow hologram.

"Lyla... What was he _wearing_?"

* * *

 **End of Chapter**

 **Dundundun D:**

 **Had to divide this chapter into two but the next part is coming. Review if you'd like it soon!**


	7. Back to the Beginning

**AN: Back! Been busy. I'll keep this intro brief. If you're reading and enjoying, please review Ibeg.**

 **Disclaimer: As usual, I've included a lot of undiluted prose (i.e. most dialogue) directly written by Peter David himself, since paraphrasing some of these sentences would be doing his talent as a storyteller an injustice. ^^**

 **Also, this chapter/issue#3 ends where the first began.**

* * *

 **Back to the Beginning**

* * *

 **En route to Alchemax…**

Miguel couldn't remember the last time he'd been in so tight a spot. His head ached worse than the monster of all hangovers. That wasn't helped by the sound of Tyler Stone's oily, professional voice oozing through Venture's audio-visual communicator. It was hard to get his muscles to respond, not accounting for the fact that he was thoroughly restrained. Every second, the silhouette of Alchemax HQ grew bigger and more imposing on the horizon. He was, truly and perfectly, shocked.

" _Good work, Venture. I knew you were the 'borg for the job._ "

Venture didn't answer to Stone's praise. It was probably meaningless to him. Money, tangible materialism, now _that_ had meaning. The bounty hunter had Miguel on the end of his pole, casually slung over his shoulder like a bindle-sack. His eyes were at his wrist, on the communicator screen and mic. Miguel once caught a glimpse of Stone's face on it whilst he swayed back and forth from the flight.

" _You have him secured?_ "

Scoffing at Stone's insulting unsurety, Venture answered him simply, "Molecularly dense body wrap."

" _Excellent. That should hold him. I have a number of questions about him... Although in some instances, they're really not questions so much as_ confirmations."

Feeling was finally flowing back into Miguel's trussed limbs. A faint flicker of faith entered him like an arrow to the heart. With a quiet wheeze, Miguel bent his legs and lifted his torso to draw himself up. His hands and feet fumbled with his bonds, claws clipping on their edges. It took a bit of tugging and sawing motions, but the bands around his body started to come apart.

Tyler Stone went on talking, " _What I'm particularly interested by is his ability to scale walls. Any clue as to how he_ _does it, Venture? You observed him up close._ "

 _He's not looking, if I can_ _just..._ He held his breath. The bonds were becoming ribbons at the rate Miguel was working on them. He felt himself start to fall from their new flimsiness, but Venture was unaware. _Got it!_

"He moved too quick for me to be sure," drawled Venture disinterestedly. "I presume it was some sort of suction mechanism. You'll have your answer soon enough."

With a satisfied snarl, Miguel grasped the cut ends of the body wrap with a fist. A great yank tore them free from his torso, and pulling apart his legs untangled the rest of him. The molecularly dense body wrap was lost to the wind soon after. He crowed, "Maybe even sooner than you think!"

The startled cyborg started to say something, but Miguel never heard him. Before gravity could fully take hold, Spider-Man latched onto his former-captor's waist. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so helpless and angry at the same time. Hell, being helpless _made_ him angry. Escape was still Spider-Man's main goal, but now he knew that in order to accomplish that he needed to put Venture out of commission.

"Here's your answer, asshole. I have talons on my fingers and toes. They're handy for climbing walls and shredding things - like bonds, and jet mechanisms," snarled Spider-Man. He leaned over, still gripping Venture, and slashed at the metal boots keeping them both aloft. A contained explosion ensued, like a firecracker, before it puttered out. The boot started to trail smoke and fuel from the bottom. Venture grappled with Spider-Man all the while as they lost altitude.

"What's the matter, Venture?" Spider-Man dug his talons deep into one of Venture's upraised arms, the other one holding the staff. No way was Miguel letting him use _that_ again, thank you very much. His other arm wrapped around Venture's neck. He couldn't resist deriding the cocky cyborg, not after he'd been forced to endure his disdainful words earlier in their fight. "Run out of smart remarks?"

"No... just patience." With that Venture removed the hand that had formerly been scrabbling at the choking arm at his neck and instead latched it on to Spider-Man's wrist. Then, the cyborg clutched for almost all he was worth. It paid off; something cracked, Spider-Man let out a satisfying scream near his mechanical ear. The bones didn't break, but they were about to. Spider-Man tried to tug himself free, though his attempts only added to the agony. Venture's grip was resolute and mechanical. That coupled with the uncomfortably-full, piercing feeling in his forearms, made Miguel certain that his arm was about to fall off.

"You've blown it, Spider-Man. You've made me consider you a threat." Now that the metahuman was so desperate for flight once more, Venture yanked Spider-Man's hand free of his throat with ease. Spider-Man yelled and yelped the whole while, slashing at every part of Venture that he could reach without falling off him. "I'll do Alchemax a favour. 'Be easier to examine those talons...-" With the calm deliberateness of a surgeon, Venture brought Spider-Man's hand up to his face. "-...If I rip off your _arms_." Suddenly, he squeezed again. Instead of having the chance to do as he'd promised, Venture found himself unexpectedly blinded by a strange, silky substance. Spider-Man was just as taken aback as his foe.

"What in-?!" they screamed simultaneously. Venture's face and the scanning lenses that served in conjunction with his regular machine eyes were encrusted in the sticky stuff. It'd happened in a split second, so Venture never saw it coming. It was quite a different story for Spider-Man. He'd seen it all. In fact, there were still some loose threads of it hanging from the top of his wrist.

 _That... that came right out of my_ forearms, _when he put pressure on them. Oh, god._ That's _what the itching was!_ _I've... I've grown spinnerets on my arms, generating some sort of web!_ Miguel realized. They continued to fall, but now with Venture flying blind with his remaining jet boot. Of course. It seemed the spinnerets had survived the transferring process when Delgato had inputted pieces of the spider program. The UMF must've selectively allowed the webbing to pass through from the inside, like how it did the same for air, or else the seam where the red part connected with the black must've enabled its passage. Absurd as it was, it made a sort of twisted sense in hindsight. _Naturally!_ **NATURALLY!** _Any minute now, I'll start to get hungry for_ flies!

Miguel's incredulousness bubbled out in a loud, hysterical laugh, before he noticed how close to the ground they were. He could effortlessly make out people's faces, peering at them from open levels of some outdoor shopping centre, and an active roadway coming up with frightening rapidness. Miguel's laugher quickly trailed off, his heart dropping. " _HAHAHAHA_! ...Ha... aww, _shock_."

Venture's impact was loud and destructive. His metallic behind created a crater in the sidewalk. Still, the cyborg kept a grip on his gun and shock staff. Miguel had managed to leap from him just in time to avoid a similar fate, since he saw the street coming earlier. Clumsily, the spider-human grabbed onto a billboard overhang over the busy road. He swung off the bottom of it and barely missed a vehicle driving swiftly by beneath him. His talons had come in handy for that. The bustling streets became a scene of pandemonium. Some people ran, others gathered around in bemused, mindless preoccupation.

Roaring with anger, Venture jumped to his feet and tore his web-pasted tracking implants straight from his eye sockets with sickening callousness. Underneath the shadow cast by Venture's hat, Miguel could make out unobscured pinpricks of red light surrounded by naked circuity. Venture's actual eyes were far more frightening in their simplicity and raw, inhuman emotion. Despite their chilling appearance, the basic machine orbs did not seem to work as well without Venture's heat-tracking implements to filter stimuli. They were probably quite primitive, actually. Miguel could imagine that replacements would be quite painful.

"Awright, boy! I see you over there! You are dead Spider-Man! _Dead_!" Venture bellowed, waved his gun around, and otherwise put on a good show, but Spider-Man could call his bluff immediately.

 _The_ hell _he sees me. He's aiming to my_ left, Miguel realized. Venture's new navigational handicap was another advantage, but if he started to shoot indiscriminately, then people were going to get killed. Spider-Man would have to give him what he wanted: a target to focus his fire on. Unless... Spider-Man's gaze drifted to the blurred blobs in the foreground that made up the hover traffic. Venture was on the opposite side, probably seconds away from shooting like a madman. Thinking fast, Miguel grabbed one of the floating maglev cards as it whipped by. It metaphorically screeched to a halt, though no sound was made. Inside the driver's head hit his wheel from the inertial force exerted at the abrupt stop. Spider-Man could hear the guy's muffled yelling: "HEY! STOP IT!"

Miguel knew that the magnets built into the undercarriage of the cars generated current through the guideway coils to create like-polarity. If he could create a like-polarity in Venture, it would repel him into the next _county._...Hyperbolically, of course. More likely it would just immobilize him, thereby taking him out of the fight. Straining, Spider-Man flipped the car onto its side and held it in front of Venture. The maglev fought him the whole time, so Miguel could hardly believe he was doing this at all. The strength required was beyond anything _human_ , that was for sure.

In a near-equal show of strength, Venture resisted the magnetic push, much to Spider-Man's dismay. The cyborg was blown backwards as though by a strong wind. His arms flailed back over his head. Before he could regain his balance, Venture had lost his gun, the metal in it propelling it far away and out of sight. At the very least Miguel counted that as a small victory. Now he wouldn't be shooting up the place.

"Nice trick! That'll buy you maybe another five seconds of life! Use it wisely! Run away again! It's what you do _best_!" Venture jeered at him. For now, they were at an impasse. Venture was stuck in place, but only for as long as Spider-Man held the car in place. At this rate, whoever's strength gave out first would decide the victor.

Spider-Man didn't rise to Venture's heckling. It was all he could do to struggle to keep the car in place. He may be strong now, but he wasn't eager to test his endurance against that of a half-man-half-machine. Instead, he would exploit the magnetism once more for himself. Clutching the car close, Spider-Man lifted his legs off the ground to let himself float. Just as he expected, the freed, sideways car immediately started to spin in the other direction in order to right itself again. Spider-Man used that momentum to catapult himself over the car and towards Venture.

"Not this time!" he growled. No more running. This was going to end, here and now.

As he launched himself, Venture's visual sensors finally picked up on a clear picture of him. That picture only got clearer as he came ever closer. So, the Spider-Man wasn't going to scarper after all. In preparation, Venture pulled his staff over his shoulder like a hammer.

"You finally tired of running, boy? Ready to give it up? Ready _t'die_?" asked the cyborg, stabbing his staff downwards with enough strength to break off chunks of sidewalk. The strike was sure and swift, but Spider-Man avoided it all the same. Upon landing Spider-Man had ducked under the rod by invading the cyborg's personal space as much as possible. While the rod was still being dislodged, he sprang up and grabbed onto it.

"No! Ready to live!" Miguel gasped.

Enraged, Venture pushed against the staff to force Spider-Man backwards. The metahuman did indeed bend, but didn't break. He used his toe talons as traction, scrabbling in place before they got a good grip. The two combatants were mask-to-face now. Venture's eyes sent a spike of fear through Spider-Man, a sort of primal fear that was not shared in those dead, red orbs of whirring machinery. Desperate, Spider-Man lifted a single foot and lashed out with it, slicing open Venture's leg. He was rewarded with a pained yell from Venture. Bits of sizzling circuits, metal, and cloth from his pants flew onto the street. The damage was severe even if the leg wasn't yet crippled.

Bolstered, Spider-Man struggled to haul himself upwards. He and Venture labored in place against one another, the staff being the only thing between them. Sweat ran down Spider-Man's masked face, but he knew he was gaining ground. He could see it in Venture's face, too. At long last the bounty hunter was starting to look worried, less cocky.

"Surprised, asshat? I'll full of surprises, Venture. Sometimes, just sometimes... I even surprise _myself_ ," grunted Spider-Man. The smirk on his face was audible in his voice, even through the mask, but buried beneath was that same unbridled terror that came with conflict.

"Nice _lip_ , boy! But you're still just a jerk in a costume! Me... I'm _Venture_! I eat guys like you for breakfast!"

From behind Venture Spider-Man could see a distinct shape quickly come into view. It was the gun, arcing like a boomerang around awestruck pedestrians to their location. The gun itself must've been magnetized to his metal back for convenience. The absence of magnetic interference had allowed it to return, locked on like a missile to its owner. Best of all, Venture didn't see it coming back. Now was his chance.

"Then choke on _this_ , cowboy!" Miguel cried. Just as the gun slammed with a vengeance onto its traditional place on Venture's back, Spider-Man shoved forward against the staff with all his strength. Venture lost his breath and let out an audible " _oooof!_ ". It sounded pretty painful. Spider-Man was easily able to tear the staff from his hands. Venture stumbled backwards, still stunned by the devastating blow to both his front and back. Still holding the shock stick, Spider-Man laid his sights on Venture's left leg. Specifically, the exposed, damaged incisions and puncture marks on the boot that he'd inflicted with his talons earlier. In a split second, he lined the staff up, and speared it inside.

It was contact-activated, so as soon as Spider-Man jammed it inside, it electrified. At first Venture just made eye contact with Miguel, red eyes filled with dread and hate. Then, the leg exploded. Spider-Man was blown back, the severed and dislodged boot section following him. A high, metallic screeching sound accompanied a smaller, ensuing explosion. The screams of a dying machine. It was worse than nails on chalkboard.

" _eeEEEEAAAAHH-_ "

It continued and continued until Venture's artificial voice box gave out. Spider-Man pulled himself to his hands and knees, lifting a taloned hand and trembling like a leaf. What was left of Venture had caught fire; a twitching, spasming heap of half-intact parts containing broken human biology. Occasionally the half of his left leg that remained sparked and sizzled. The rod was still embedded inside the exposed wiring, having shorted out all his systems. His synthetic skin had burned away, revealing a grisly, metallic skull. The red eyes glowed out from their ports, though they seemed far away, offline. The air stank of burning circuitry.

For a moment, Miguel just stood there, staring at him... not really believing that _he_ was still standing and Venture was _down_. Then, the crowd started converging. Some six-year old darted in to snap a picture of the wreckage. A distant Thorite cheered and whooped all by his lonesome. People were slowly closing in, cautious in their approach. Miguel felt a surge of panic. He had to get the hell _out_ of here. Spinning on his heels, he staggered under an elevated bridge, found a wall, and clambered straight up it. By the time the first onlooker had followed, he was long gone.

* * *

 **…  
**

* * *

"For the next couple of days I criss-crossed the city, sometimes in costume, sometimes out," Miguel sighed.

Lyla nodded to herself, dutifully scribbling in her holographic notepad. It was just a playful little illusion, though. In reality she was taking down the record in an audio-to-textual form. Miguel was in his own little world, not seeing her, just venting. He'd probably have to purge the journal later, anyway. Private files didn't always stay private when you worked for a megacorp.

Saying everything aloud just cemented the reality of it. It was of little comfort, but at the same time he relished in the chance to speak to someone, to have a _semblance_ of a human interaction again, no matter how small. It didn't even matter that Lyla wasn't human, couldn't comprehend his distress. The important thing was that she could _pretend_ , and do a damn good job of it too. That's all most _people_ could do, in any case.

Miguel continued, "That way, if any other heat trackers like Venture tried to trace me, all they'd find was a random mess of tracking and backtracking all over the city. Couldn't stay anywhere in one place for too long. The public eye cams are everywhere uptown. Stole food for the first time in my life. All during that time I ran through every possible course of action in my mind... all of them conflicting. My whole life there's never been a time when I didn't know what to do. Everything was always laid out and clear, right in front of me. And now... now it's all this big, endless void."

Shuddering, Miguel stood and started to pull his sleeves up his arms. The action revealed the faint bulge of his silk glands. It was subtle, as subtle as the openings behind his hands, but Miguel _knew_ they were there, could _feel_ them. An invisible itch only he could sense, but never scratch. He looked away, gritting his teeth. Lyla quirked her head to the side, patiently curious at his period of silence.

"But I finally decided to come home. If I'm going to try and continue this game, I have to go back to square one. Besides... I figure, I've got talons, fangs, accelerated vision, web spinners all over my forearms... which beats shooting webbing out my _ass_ , I suppose... Plus my fiancé is terrified of me, or for me, or both; my brother thinks I've sold my soul to Alchemax, and maybe I _have_ ; Venture may be back on line by now for all I know, the Public Eye's out to get me... With all _that_ going for me, how could things possibly get worse-?"

Two brisk knocks pierced through the apartment. Miguel froze in place, sharing an alarmed look with Lyla. The sophisticated, serpent-like voice that Miguel knew all too well filtered through his front door, sending chills down Miguel's spine.

" _Mike, this is Tyler Stone. I think we should talk... about_ Spider-Man."

* * *

 **Next Chapter: In the words of P.D., "things get worse".**

 **Remember to review! -heart-**


	8. With Great Power

**AN: Here we go. Less action in this one and more character drama/necessary conversations. Hope you enjoy! If you do be sure to leave a review as always~**

 **Small warning: No actual M-rated content, but some suggestive language ahead.**

* * *

 **With Great Power  
**

* * *

 **Uptown Nueva York, Eastern District...**

"Gabriel, this is _crazy_."

"What's so crazy about it?" Gabe snickered, nose brushing against his girlfriend's. "Did I mention I love that pink poncho you're wearing?"

Karyn "Kasey" Charlene Nash was the most beautiful girl Gabriel had dated, and by far the best thing to ever happen to him. Short black-brown hair and bright eyes... in some ways she reminded Gabriel of Dana. In other ways, though, Kasey Nash was something else entirely. While Dana had been complacent in her and Miguel's place in their respective employments, Kasey Nash was a trueborn rebel. Hell, she was an unironic badass. She'd made him really _see_ the world, to recognize Alchemax, Stark-Fujikawa, Synthia, and so on as the source of almost all the country's discontent. Beyond that, though, it didn't hurt that she was damn gorgeous, especially when she smiled.

"You're buttering me up, O'Hara," Kasey accused him playfully, and received only an innocent shrug in recompense from the man leaning over her. They were a bit cramped, huddled together in the privately parked maglev car. Kasey took advantage of their close quarters by touching Gabe's hair, cheeks... _other_ places. She paused to peck the corner of his mouth.

Face flushed, Gabriel breathed out near her ear, "I repeat: what's so crazy about it?"

"Well, I mean, _c'mon_ O'Hara. Why don't we just go to my place insteada, y'know, doin' it in the back seat of your car?"

" _You_ c'mon, Kasey. You're the one who's always telling me to seize the moment. And _this_ is the moment, and you're here... and I wanna _seize_ it."

Gabriel received a light slap for his corniness before Kasey cupped his cheek with exaggerated exasperation. Her deliberations and misgivings had melted away, corny-boyfriend-talk or not. Sensing his victory, Gabriel grinned widely at her.

"Ooohhh... Okay, O'Hara. But I'm warnin' you... if somebody comes along and embarrasses me, I'll kill ya."

Unbeknownst to the couple, a shadow had passed over their window. Just then, a blade cleaved through the top of Gabriel's car, cleanly shearing off its top half. It took a half centimetre of hair off of Gabriel's head along with it. The stroke was precise, but far too close for comfort. Gabriel fell back like he'd been shot, screaming, "HEY-? WHAT THE SHOCK?!"

Standing over them was a tall, broad-faced man, carrying the culprit sword that had sliced Gabriel's car into a convertible. For lack of a better word, he looked like a stereotypical samurai, though in more casual garb and missing the signature helmet. His hair was styled in a sort of loose chonmage, scalp partially shaved but lacking the traditional knot, with a long ponytail in its place. In terms of age, Gabriel would pin him anywhere from thirty to sixty. The man's eyes were empty, soulless voids even as they narrowed at Kasey. There was nothing in those eyes that resembled free will or thought.

Swiftly, the man snatched Gabriel's stunned girlfriend out of her seat by the back of her poncho. She dangled like a caught kitten, legs bent and arms outstretched. The sheer audacity of this intruder had her floored. She managed to get out an outraged, " _HEY!_ "

"Kasey Nash." The samurai-guy seemed to nod to himself. "You are to accompany this one immediately. Lack of resistance will directly result in lack of _perforation_."

"Who the shock do you think you are?!" demanded a steaming Gabriel. He vaulted over the side of the remaining half of his car, the distraction giving Kasey the chance to smoothly slip out of her poncho, now in just her matching pink tank top and blue pants. Cool under the pressure, she hit the ground and immediately started running as the man evenly addressed Gabriel.

"This one knows who the 'shock' he is. _Your_ identity is unknown, and irrelevant. Your best interests would be served in _keeping_ it that way." Sighing in a long-suffering way, the man expertly threw a long cord at Kasey's legs like a lasso. It automatically constricted around her ankles and caused her to trip. A solid wrench reeled her in again. "Kasey Nash... you were not listening."

An enraged Gabriel charged at the assailant who had thought it prudent to snatch up his girlfriend. He didn't know who this guy was, or why he was doing what he was doing, but frankly he didn't need to know. Swearing, Gabriel pulled out his all-purposes pocket multi-tool with all intentions of snapping the line holding Kasey in half. "Get _away_ from her you-!" Gabe's words were cut short when the man launched a pair of projectiles at him. Shuriken. They pinned Gabriel precisely by his shoulders to the wall behind him. Though they'd mostly implanted through his shirt and jacket, Gabriel still felt twin trails of blood trickle down his skin.

"And you, young one, are not worth listening _to_. This one has far better things to do."

With Kasey back in tow, the strange samurai man started to walk away, leaving Gabriel behind and Kasey screaming after him. Gabriel heard her call out for him, "O'HAAARA!", but when he tried to tear away the throwing stars they only shaved into his palms. Whoever that man was, it was clear he was either enhanced, highly trained, or both, because Gabriel could barely budge from his spot. The shuriken were embedded a good inch at their apex into the wall. Desperate to reassure her, Gabriel could only call out for as long as she was in hearing range.

"Kasey! Don't worry! I'll get you out of this!"

He stopped his frantic struggles for a breather, absolutely and utterly flummoxed by the experience. It was the strangest thing that had ever happened to him in his life, or second strangest, if he didn't count the time he'd encountered a cyborg chasing a costumed lunatic. These seemed to be strange times in general, thinking back on it. He might've even found it all funny, if not for how serious it was. Kasey was gone, and deep down Gabriel knew there was nothing _he_ could do about it.

"Ohhh... brother."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Babylon Towers, 0312 hours...  
**

 **A nice place to live, when you're not being rousted in the middle of the night...**

 _Composure,_ _composure_ , Miguel reminded himself sternly. He couldn't act out of character, anxious, or in any way that could give him away. _I don't know what he knows. This could be nothing. Keep it cool._

Taking a deep breath, Miguel signaled to Lyla to have the door open. He waited in front of it all the while, taping his foot against the floor. "Alright, Stone. What the shock do you- WHOA!"

Instead of Tyler Stone's smug mug, Miguel was greeted by the hulking form of a Public Eye officer. Without ceremony, the man two-handedly hoisted Miguel up off his feet by the front of his jacket. From behind the uniformed Public Eye Miguel spotted Tyler Stone, just now looking over his shoulder at the scene in front of him. Stone seemed to snap to attention as he saw what was happening, face becoming cross before he spoke.

"Sergeant! Being a tad overzealous, aren't we? Mike here is no threat, are you Mike?"

"Only an empty one, Tyler." Miguel lifted a fist pointedly in front of his face, eyeing the silent, hulking man that held him.

"There, you see? Put him _down_ , Sergeant."

The officer did as he was commanded, and only then did Miguel notice that there were actually _two_ of then accompanying Tyler. As Tyler entered the apartment, they drifted behind him like wraiths, shadowing his every move. Each was silent and straight-faced, looking like they didn't have half a brain between them. _The perfect solider type_ , Miguel scoffed inside, scornfully. He stepped aside for them, though it pained him to do so.

Lyla took the intrusion with much more grace than he did, bless her. "Tyler Stone! You were not listed on Miguel's social calendar. Would you like some refreshment? Miguel has repeatedly stated you like to suck the blood of widows and orphans. There's none in the fridge, but perhaps some coffee...?"

Stone's right eyebrow twitched. " _Charming_ holo you have, Mike."

"Thanks, Ty." Miguel accepted his false compliment with equal dryness. "I like her better than I like most people. Present company included, of course."

The well-dressed company head looked amused at that. He shook his head at the floor, and Miguel felt his hackles rise at his smile. For some reason, seeing Tyler in any state of "happy" towards him, no matter how innocent the reason, had him on edge, made him feel ill, like Stone's approval should be avoided at all costs. "Oh, Mike. _How_ _can_ you nurse a grudge?"

"I have tough nipples."

Muffling a chuckle, Stone clapped him on the shoulder, moving deeper into the apartment. Miguel watched him all the while like a hawk, a hand on his hip. In all his years of employment, this was the first time Stone had ever been in his home, and it was unsettling to see him so at ease there. Stone took note of his clean spaces, his clutter, his choices of decor, everything. There was not a single detail that wasn't fascinating to him, or that he didn't seem to find an affinity for. The entire time Miguel had this unsettling inkling that he was being analyzed.

"Sorry about Sergeant Seth here. He's on a bit of a hair-trigger, Mike. We _all_ are," Stone began with an apology. "This "Spider-Man" fellow has us on edge, and the board felt that I shouldn't travel anywhere without bodyguards for now. They're worried Spider-Man might come after _me_ next. In fact, that's what I'd like to talk to you about. I would've called but... well, you don't answer these days. But first, let's let bygones be bygones. Seth, shake the man's hand," ordered Stone.

"Shake his-?" Miguel felt a flare of panic. His talons were still out, and his stint as a spider-powered vagabond hadn't done anything for him in the department of learning how to properly suppress them. Even if he _had_ the ability to retract them, he was so antsy and adrenalized at the moment that he doubted they would budge an inch. They were small, yes, and currently concealed in his curled fists, but there was no way he could get away with touching "Seth's" flesh. Thinking fast, Miguel stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned up his nose at the Sergeant's outstretched hand. "He can _keep_ his hand. What do you _want_?"

An amused smirk played across Stone's face, but when he spoke he sounded serious. "Peace. Peace between us... and believe it or not, peace of mind. I envisioned you in an attempted withdrawal from the Rapture, tossing and turning in agony. The thought was so devastating to me, that I had to come over. Of course, it's apparent to me now that you appear no worse for wear, which would mean, I suspect, that you're getting Rapture through the black market. I _could_ have you arrested, but to what end?"

From the side of his high-collared coat, Tyler pulled out a clear, svelte phial. Inside it was full of a colourless liquid, unassuming enough to be water. He held it delicately between two fingers, waving it in front of Miguel's face like a treat for a dog. Miguel eyed it warily, like it was a dancing cobra about to strike. Through its glass he met Stone's eye.

"This, Mike, is more Rapture. And we _do_ want you back at the company, Mike, we do. I assume, if you've been watching the holos, that you've guessed that this Spider-Man running around is one of _your_ creations, and connected to that lab explosion the independent news groups covered. Spider-Man dealt us some major damage, but as a trial, he was a major success. We need someone to spearhead the corporate raider program. Only _you_ can do it. So let's consider this... an advance on services to be rendered?"

Fury ignited in Miguel like a flame. The audacity to present more Rapture had been the spark, and now this offer was the fuel. Along with his more human emotions, the part of him that he'd dubbed "spider-Miguel" during these past vagrant days was itching for blood, spurred on by his anger. The fire burned at his brain, and Miguel's mind began to run wild...

 _"You want services, Ty?" His mouth twitched, knees tensed, and hands opened. Then, he jumped the shocked Stone like a feral animal. Stone stumbled backwards, but Miguel just pinned him in place._

 _"GREAT! We'll start with funeral services! Yours! You're so wild about this drug?! You EAT IT!" Miguel slapped a hand over Tyler's eyes and forehead, shoving it back, opening his jaw, and shoving the phial down Stone's choking throat. When it was empty, he pulled it out and removed his hand long enough to show Stone his open mouth. He flashed his fangs in his face, fuming from the final release of his pent-up emotions: self-loathing, years of constrained, simmering hatred for Stone, all out at once._

 _"Look what trying to shake it did for me, Ty! FANGS! TALONS!"_

 _Someone suddenly seized Miguel's shoulder. It was Sergeant Seth, there to defend his client. Miguel used a single hand and stroke to gut the man from pelvis, to sternum, to collarbone. The Public Eye let one some sort of ungodly scream, clutching at the organs and entrails escaping the slender slit through the gaps in his fingers. His partner was smart enough to stall in his approach after_ that _display._

 _"One side, Public Eye-Sore! I want to see Ty's pasty face when I tell him-" His heart jumped gleefully at the impending announcement, "-MIGUEL O'HARA IS SPIDER-MAN! If Alchemax is worried about Spider-Man now, just wait! It's going to get worse! A lot worse! But lucky_ you, _Ty! You won't be there to see it!" Miguel crowed at the ceiling, clutching the Rapture's empty vessel until it cracked. "You'll be enraptured! Unless, of course, I just tear your_ throat _out with my_ teeth, _and-!"_

"Mike? You okay?"

"Hmm?"

The fantasy was over. Miguel was still staring at the same, intact flacon of Rapture. On the other side of it Stone's concerned and impatient face stared back at him. It was difficult to decide if Miguel felt more shaken at his imagination or disappointed at his reality. He ran a hand through his hair, pensive at the experience. _Thank God, for inhibitions._

"Just... just letting my mind wander, Ty. It is the middle of the night, after all."

"Then we'll get out of your way and let you get some sleep. But I'd like to see you back at work in the _morning_ ," said Stone pointedly. As he walked back to the door he draped an arm around Miguel's shoulders, his guards in the lead. "And I swear, we'll play things _your_ way. No testing on human subjects until you're ready for it. We should have listened to you, Mike. Not Aaron Delgato. He was pushing us, rushing us... and now we know it was in order to ruin our project."

This was news to Miguel. He was so intrigued, in fact, that the familiar contact with Stone didn't bother him a bit. "Wh-What do you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious, Mike? Aaron Delgato is our mysterious Spider-Man." At the door, Stone tossed him the little bottle and its wicked but unassuming contents. The door started to close, the light from the hall shrinking into a sliver across Miguel's stunned and slack-jawed face. "Here's the Rapture. Pleasant dreams."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Banat, Latveria...  
**

Victor Von Doom had reclaimed his kingdom, but he was still not content. History tended to have a pattern of repeating itself. When he'd overthrown the Baron who'd killed his father as a much younger man, there had been a sort of emptiness that revenge couldn't fill, one he tried to satisfy by occasionally trying to take over the rest of the world or by besting his rival, Reed Richards. This was more of the same. The coup he'd led against Tiger Wylde had succeeded, but Doom was still incomplete. The years had not been kind to his country or the rest of the world. The heroes had all perished in his absence, and although Doom would've never anticipated it, he almost missed them. At the very least there had been less turmoil with them around. And Richards... with Richards gone, and not by his own hand as it was supposed to be, who was to be his equal? He'd inherited Tiger Wylde's feud with the American megacorporations, and Alchemax in particular, but Doom did not yet have a quarrel with them. Yes, Doom had returned, but he was like a relic of an age long past, irrelevant in this new social order.

Doom lounged back in his throne, eyeing screens through the slits in his metal mask. They played a conglomeration of captured videos from New-, or rather, Nueva York. A man in a dark, skintight suit leapt the lengths of buildings, dodged point-blank shots from a cyborg, and evaded the police force like they were children... or chickens with their heads cut off. Meditatively, Doom steepled his silver-and-steel-encased fingers together.

The costume was different, but then, so was Doom's armour, changed out of necessity and to better fit within these troubled times. So too must've Spider-Man felt the need to evolve in his expression. Or else, this was someone different under the suit. Doom took notice of the fact that this Spider-Man moved different. There was that same, lithe grace and the uncanny reflexes, but he was awkward, inexperienced. Either it was not _the_ Spider-Man, or the original Spider-Man had simply survived without practicing his crime-fighting activities after all these years, and this was his comeback.

Regardless, it _was_ Spider-Man. These so-called "super" people could live on in their masks and names alone, so long as there was someone crazy enough to take them on. It'd happened before. Whoever this person was, he was a genuine reversion of the past, _Doom_ 's past, a past crowded with colourful costumes and century-defining clashes.

"This... this is a bit of timing that cannot be overlooked," he rumbled quietly to himself. Doom often talked to himself. It was better than being alone with his thoughts. Perhaps he would request a holo agent to record these ruminations, maybe create one himself. " _I_ return, and _he_ returns. I never believed in coincidence. The twists and turns of personal destiny, yes... But coincidence is a crutch for those who cannot walk the paths of faith unaided. The advent of Spider-Man will bear further exploration... as soon as I have the opportunity and resources. After all, I encountered him early in his first career, and Doctor Doom has always had great respect for tradition..."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Nueva York...**

 **The next morning...**

"This is a deviation in standard clothing habits for you, Miguel. Generally you do not wear undergarments of _any_ kind."

Lyla, whom was facing the window, threw her head over her shoulder to look at Miguel. It was almost time to go to Alchemax, and Miguel was in the middle of getting ready. He'd had his breakfast, showered, and shaved. Now all he needed was his coffee and to finish changing clothes. Currently he was in his Spider-Man costume, carefully tucking it and adjusting it around the waist of his pants.

"Why don't you broadcast that a little _louder_ , Lyla?"

The sarcasm was lost on the LYrate Lifeform Approximation. She started to shriek, " **I DO NOT HAVE BROADCAST FACILITIES, MIGUEL, BUT I CAN INCREASE VOLUME TO-!"**

"Forget it." After Lyla snapped her mouth shut, Miguel continued to speak, "The fact is, I still don't trust Stone. He might have the apartment searched. The last thing I need is that he finds the costume here. But he's too cagey to body-search _me_. Wouldn't want to tip his hand if the stuff about Aaron was a bluff. And if he _does_ try to search me..." Miguel lifted his hand to scrutinize it, "Well, if push comes to shove... I can really shove _back_ now."

Miguel gritted his teeth for a half-second before forcing his face into a neutral expression. This would require calmness, concentration. He regarded his fingertips coolly, and ever-so-slowly they started to "shrink". In reality they were just moving backwards, providing the illusion of sinking back into his skin. A noise of exertion escaped through his teeth, but otherwise Miguel couldn't be more delighted at his eventual success.

Half to himself and half to Lyla, he exclaimed, "Did it! I flattened the talons!"

Lyla did a little golf clap of congratulations, which Miguel deliberately ignored. He grabbed the UMF around his hands and started to tug it free. Last night, with the help of some of his tools, he'd managed to modify the costume to not just have a separate mask, but separate sleeves as well. He stuffed the gloves inside his pants, out of sight, then began to button up a gray dress shirt over the torso portion of the suit. Finally, he completed the functionary look with a tie.

"The neural responses to make my powers function are already in place. It's just a matter of developing them."

In her usual carefree manner, Lyla lifted her palms and shoulders in a shrug. Something had just struck her, which she expressed soon afterwards. "If you are concerned the costume will be discovered, why not simply destroy it?"

"First off, destroying clothes made from Unstable Molecules isn't that easy. That's the whole _point_ of them. Second, you saw how jumpy ol' Ty was about Spider-Man. For once - for _once_ \- Ty and Alchemax are running scared. The S-Man is the one responsible for yanking the chain, and I'm not ready to put an end to that. Feels good, _damn_ good, and more than that, as long as they're looking over their shoulders they'll be distracted from what I'm up to."

"Up to?" prompted Lyla as Miguel strode into the kitchen to retrieve his freshly-topped, steaming coffee mug. Only when he'd swallowed a few scalding sips did he answer her.

"Ty wants me back on the corporate raider program. Fine. Even though the lab was blown up, they still have plenty of great research facilities; the best, in fact; facilities I can use to try and find a cure for my..." Having set down his coffee, Miguel flicked out a single, index talon. He cast an uncomfortable glance back at the expectant AI. "... _Situation_. I can also research what other biological surprises my change might have in store, so I can anticipate them. Like, how knowing the spinnerets were coming in would have helped."

Under Lyla's watchful gaze, Miguel jerked his wrist away from his body, took aim, and loosed a webline. It was a disorganized jumble of tangled strands, not at all like an orb-weaver's more artistic, meticulously-constructed fibres, but his aim was true. The silk-globule had gone in a perfect arch to hit one of his spinning chairs a few metres away. Spiders expertly spun their silk through some sort of barely understood, instinctual system that was present from hatching, but Miguel was still getting the hang of it. He didn't exactly have to learn from scratch, and he was catching on quick, but at this point it was more of a hindrance than anything useful.

"At least they stopped itching," Miguel muttered. "I should be grateful. If I were duplicating a spider one-hundred-percent, I'd be eating flies and shooting webbing out my buttocks. The day I destroy the costume is the day I've managed to rid myself of Spider-Man for _good_."

He headed for the door, shutting down the lights and auxiliary power as he went. Just as he was about to go out, Lyla called after him in parting, "Have a nice day at the office, dear!" Miguel automatically gave her an odd look at the domestic line, and all he got in return was that same innocent, beaming countenance that she always expressed. He could never accuse her main programmer of not giving her enough quirks, that was for sure.

* * *

 **/**

* * *

Outside the building, Miguel was greeted by his brother Gabriel's voice. He would know it anywhere. It came as a bit of a surprise to Miguel, but not a totally unpleasant one. Yes, he resented the moral seminars that Gabriel was oh-so-fond of dishing out these days, but they were still siblings. Miguel would hate to have them split further apart simply because of this Spider-Man nonsense. Gabriel was certainly a more patient person than Miguel was to put up with all the missed calls, attitude, and more recently, unexplained absences.

"Miguel! Over here!" Gabriel hollered again, raising a hand. It was his customary call. At one point, Gabriel used to drive Miguel to work every other day, just so they could chat. Miguel usually used the transit system, or called in an Alchemax driver if he was feeling particularly lazy that day. Unsurprisingly, he always preferred his younger brother to an Alchemax employee who drove only to dock Miguel's bimonthly paycheque.

Hiding in the shade of the entrance-overhang, Miguel made sure to put on his sunglasses first before going to Gabriel. Nowadays the sunglasses were almost a must. It was a nightmare tolerating excess light, not to mention Miguel was becoming aware that his irises were becoming more and more crimson by the day. Nothing too noticeable, they could still pass for a ruddy brown, but Miguel had deemed it best not to take any chances.

"Gabriel... Nice to see my brother is still talking to-" Miguel blinked as he moved over. "-Me?"

Gabriel sat in the front seat of his red car, except there was really only _half_ a car there. The top part of the cabin was completely gone, sheared off in a straight, slanting line. It was an odd look, with the side windows only coming up to Gabriel's shoulders. Small shards and fine dustings of glass covered the leather seats. Miguel was gobsmacked.

"Uh... Gabe...? Wouldn't it have been easier to buy a _convertible_?"

"Just get in the car, will ya, Mig?"

"No lectures?"

"None, I swear."

Without a word, Miguel got into the passenger seat. He was intrigued and worried by Gabriel's serious mood, the state of the car, and a few other red flags. Not only that, but he'd made an effort to pick up Miguel like old times in spite of their previous drama. Something was up; Gabri wanted something. If it was in Miguel's power, he would grant it, if only to help mend the rift that was gradually growing bigger between them as the years went by. As soon as he was buckled, Gabriel took off. It wasn't until they were on the expressway that the younger brother broke the tension, a breath escaping him.

"Look, there's a problem with Kasey. That's how my car got "redecorated"."

Kasey. Gabri's girlfriend. Miguel had heard enough about her to know her type, but they'd never actually met face-to-face. Neither one of them really had the interest, despite sharing Gabriel in their lives. And anyway, Kasey apparently frequented the _downtown_ areas of the old New York, and that didn't exactly lend itself to confidence in her character. She was a rabble-rouser, and it always escaped Miguel as to how someone like her and Gabriel had gotten together. He didn't want to judge, though, not prematurely, anyway. Gabriel had a small, yellow hologram-snapshot of a woman in his car that Miguel only now noticed for the first time. It must've been recent. If it was Kasey, she wasn't a half-bad catch in terms of looks.

"Is this holo on the dashboard her?"

"Yeah."

"So _that's_ the charmer you keep going on about. The one who "raised your consciousness"."

"Stop sounding so smug, Mig. She opened my eyes about what's going on in this country, that's all. The same way my "lectures" were trying to open yours."

A sign announcing an "auto control zone" and instructing drivers to "retract tires" passed by overhead. They were alone on the maglev roads, which Miguel and Gabriel both appreciated. The lower level traffic routes were a lot more private and free than even the sky traffic, which often got so crowded that the auto-enforced speed limits tended to dip drastically during rush hours.

"Yeah, right. And before Kasey it was Leilani, and you became a physical fitness nut. You bought a home gym set that took up your entire apartment. Do you see why I'm a bit dubious here?"

"Okay, but..."

"Before _that_ there was Michelle, and you were telling me that society's sole hope was to ditch technology, worship trees, and eat only oatmeal. Then there was Stacy the nudist, and I had to pull some strings to get you off the hook with the authorities after you marched with-"

"For crying out loud, I was a _kid_ then!" An indignant, or perhaps delusional Gabriel chose that moment to interject, but his brother wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily.

"This all happened last _year_ , Gabe," Miguel reminded him.

"Mig, everything that Kasey made me realize is true! And she's important to me! And she's important to someone else, too, because some nut with a shocking sword kidnapped her!"

Miguel did a double take and adjusted his glasses, wondering if he'd heard right. "Come again?"

"Kasey and I were making out in an alleyway, and this... this _Samurai_ guy comes out of nowhere, whacks the top off my mag car, and takes off with her. You gotta help me, Mig," ranted Gabriel in distress. Throughout the whole, summarized story Miguel just stared at him, hardly able to believe his ears. His best guess? Some downtown maniac out for revenge, or hired by someone for the same purpose. Possibly a power scuffle. Either way, it wasn't his problem.

"Me? Why?!"

Gabriel groaned and hit his head against the car's controls, as if having to ask for his help pained him. They passed a few city workers that were erasing some graffiti. Vandalism continued to be rampant in the city, even with the harsher punishments that Alchemax had administered and now enforced for it. Anti-corporate slogans were particularly popular. One such sign advertising the military Corps had an "E" added to the end of it, forming the poignant "CORPSE".

"'Cause you're tied in with Alchemax, so make it work positively for once. I reported the kidnapping to the Public Eye, but nothing's gonna happen, 'cause I don't rate. But you... you're hot stuff. Have them look into it, assign a detective, _something_ ," demanded Gabriel, his tone of voice escalating in desperation with each word.

For a moment Miguel imagined that he was in Gabe's position, that it was Dana that had been taken away from him, right out from under his nose. How hard would it have been to watch, and be helpless to stop it? Not only that, but what would it be like to know that there was nothing that could be done to find her, unless your prick older brother stuck his neck out for you? Empathy filled Miguel; not much, but enough. It was difficult to dismiss him, now.

"I'll do what I can, Gabe. No promises, but from things you've told me in the past, about the kinds of nuts Kasey runs around with... Well, this might be some intragroup squabble. It might be none of your business. It's sure none of mine."

"I _love_ her, Mig! Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you, but it does to me!"

"You really sound like you mean it this time, Gabri," replied Miguel thoughtfully, chewing over his words.

"I do. And besides, it _is_ your business. You've got power, Miguel. And Kasey told me that 'with great power must come great responsibility'."

Miguel resolutely surveyed the road ahead of them, his unimpressed eyes hidden behind vacant lenses. A new sign and arrow on their particular roadway announced the upcoming, indoor parking for the " _ALCHEMAX: BIONEERING DIVISION. SUBLEVEL A._ ". They were nearly there. The building soared into the sky ahead of them like some sort of manmade Mt. Everest, the sunlight glinting off its windows. Miguel squinted at it, silent. It was almost beautiful. Almost.

"...Kasey reads too many fortune cookies."

* * *

 **End of Chapter. Next: The Specialist**

 **Remember to review hoho, and Happy almost-Halloween!**


	9. The Specialist

**AN: Ohman I really missed writing this novelization. It's fun to add little extra scenes/tidbits to make things feel and read more like a book.** **As always, for better flow, some of the narration is actually dialogue/speech bubbles taken from the comic! Some Kasey POV in here this time. Warning: she's a bit of a potty mouth. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **The Specialist  
**

* * *

 **Alchemax,** **Genetics Department...**

Upon signing in, the computers granted Miguel the location of his new laboratory and instructed him to head there immediately. He complied, curious to see what it would have to offer. It wasn't far removed from his old workshopping area, but far enough so that repair and construction couldn't interrupt his work. It was smaller, a step down from the last lab, but still impressive. Already Miguel could come up with dozens of ways that the equipment he'd been provided would prove useful for personal reasons. He also didn't mind the size change; it made everything feel a little more private, somehow.

Miguel preferred to work alone, but he also recognized that some research required a supporting staff of underlings and lesser scientists. The machine he'd made had been ambitious enough to require many men and women on board the project. This new lab was no exception; it was crawling with other employees. One of them, a younger man with copper-coloured hair, approached Miguel as he stood surveying the room.

"Welcome back, Mr. O'Hara. It's wonderful to be working with you again-"

"Shut the shock up Steve."

"Yes Mr. O'Hara." The groveling grunt scurried away like a cockroach. When you had ambition but no talent to supplement it, the only way to climb in this cutthroat company was to sidle up to supervising superiors, like leeches. Complimenting them, sleeping with them, anything to secure a foothold. Miguel had neither the mood, patience, or temperament to put up with it.

"Someone lower those damn lights, please," he barked. The change in lighting was instantaneous. Miguel was swiftly and seamlessly falling into his old role.

It was at that moment that Tyler Stone decided to show his face to the faculty. The man was in a green suit, lacking the sophisticated, long, high-and-stiff-collared jacket he'd been wearing the night before. He appeared pleased to see Miguel already there, and Miguel's stomach churned somewhat. Nevertheless, Miguel went to him and they walked together for a while, Tyler taking the opportunity to show him features of interest throughout the room.

"You see, Mike? We've scaled the entire project back. You weren't happy, and if you're not happy, _we're_ not happy. Of course, it's only a temporary space until we can set you up with something more suitable. We even managed to recover most of your project files that we had backed up on our servers. May have lost a few, accessory imprints, but all non-vital. Nothing that will require you to start from scratch," Tyler Stone assured him smugly.

"A few imprints...?" Miguel sounded lost. God, somehow he _knew_ , deep down in his gut, that one of those lost imprints was his own, prior to the lab explosion. It would be just his luck. Even if he managed to recreate and perfect the machine again within a few months, if he'd lost that original record of his complete, uncorrupted genome, then it would tack on anywhere from a few more months to a few more _years_ to reconstruct a cure program for himself. He'd be stuck like this. A spider-freak, for who knows how long, maybe until the damage was irreparable.

"Yes, just a few human and chimp samples. By the way, Mike, why did you ask that the lights be lowered? You never had a problem with that before."

Miguel eyed Stone meaningfully through his shades before he spoke, almost bitterly, "Rapture's made me a little light sensitive. That's all." He moved on quickly from that. Now that the pleasantries were over, it was time to interrogate Tyler. "What _I_ want to know is what makes you say Aaron is this... What's his name?"

"Spider-Man." There was that same amused and knowing twinkle in Tyler's eyes. "Let me tell my secretary to cancel my 10 o'clock appointment, and then we can go up to my office and chat."

* * *

 **/**

* * *

 **Elsewhere in Alchemax...**

Kasey Nash was in the worst of moods. The samurai-guy, a person she now knew to be a corporate agent, likely hired out by Stark-Fujikawa, had dropped her off at Alchemax of all places. She'd been handed off to an awaiting assembly of employees, like a shipment upon delivery. The vague words " _ADVANCED RESEARCH_ " over a wide, open hallway entrance was her only clue as to where she was. A part of her had anticipated that something like this would happen eventually, but that didn't mean she would take it sitting down.

"If I'm being _arrested_ , I demand proper trial! You can't just scarf me away whenever and do whatever you-"

"You _had_ your trial. It was three months ago, and you were in _absentia_ , I fear," interrupted one of the employees, a sturdy and balding fellow. He and his two buddies wore blue uniforms, made up of blue overalls, jackets, hats, and protective eye gear that varied from visors to goggles. In Alchemax, they were quite literally called "blue-collars".

Clearing his throat, the first blue-collar continued, "Miss Nash, in addition to the other crimes of terrorism you're associated with, you have been quoted as saying: "The Corps do whatever the shock they want"."

"And you're out to prove I'm right?" Kasey bit back, absolutely unabashed.

Smugly, the man started to speak once more. "In this case, _you_ are. Alchemax has purchased your criminal record and disposition thereof. Helps clear out judicial backlog. Which means you're at our disposal. Gentlemen, prepare her for experimentation and run her through showers and processing. Twice, please. Lord knows what she's brought in with her."

Although Kasey was far from the point of admitting she was scared, she couldn't keep down a gulp. As the head blue-collar finished his commands, she was already formulating a plan of escape. Discreetly, her eyes trailed over another nearby blue-collar's hip, upon which was perched a holster. Inside was a standard-issue pistol. Her gaze locked onto it, fingers twitching. While he was distracted by his coworker's words, Kasey lunged...

* * *

 **/**

* * *

The indoor transportation unit was waiting for Tyler and Miguel from the moment they entered the halls, a shining symbol of the elite Stone's influence, luxury, and privileges in the company. A vibrato humming sound betrayed the magnetic mechanism that kept it upright on its single stabilizer, as well as serving to propel the small vehicle. It was orange, sleek, and three seated. The front seat was for the driver, which took the form of one of Stone's bodyguards. The passenger seating was in the back, side-by-side, much to Miguel's displeasure. Tyler was the first to sit down, Miguel settling beside him afterwards. Instantly they started to glide along, weaving through people, guided by colour-coded magnetic lines in the floor.

"Why walk when you can ride. Right, Mike?"

"I'm still waiting, Ty. What's Aaron's connection to Spider-Man?"

"Oh that. Well, I might as well tell you some of what I know now," Tyler sighed long-sufferingly. "Aaron was here the night Spider-Man first appeared. Auto-check-in confirms that. And since then, he's vanished, as if he's gone into hiding." At this Tyler paused, his flinty blue eyes meeting Miguel's. A smile crossed his face, almost a _knowing_ one, but also somewhat self-mocking. No matter how Miguel read the expression or tried to decipher it, it puzzled him. "Sometimes you simply can't ignore coincidence. It would be foolish, don't you think?"

As nonchalantly as he was able, Miguel replied in the way was expected. Inwardly his mind was a whirlwind, racing with suspicion. "Oh yeah. _Very_ foolish."

 _Except I know Aaron took a swan dive out the lab the night everything went down. There's no way they can't_ not _know about that, is there? So either Stone is lying and trying to trick me, or else Aaron survived somehow and is running loose knowing everything about me. I don't know which I like less..._

Suddenly, Miguel was shaken out of his skeptic thoughts by a shout off to his side. The two of them, Ty and he, jolted in their seats when a woman ran right in their path, waving around an obvious weapon. She'd come from an offshoot hallway on their left to cut them off, teeth gritted and eyes fierce. From that same connecting corridor, Miguel heard distant yells.

"Stop her! She grabbed a gun off a guard!"

"Get her back in here!"

"Forget it!" screamed the lady, firing multiple rounds behind her. "You're not running your sick experiments on _me_! You guys! Out of the skutter! **_NOW!_** "

So stunned was Miguel that he barely registered her turning the gun onto him and Tyler. The guard and driver was already reaching for his own firearm in defence of Stone, ready to take the escapee down. Unnecessarily, Tyler roared out in outrage for the guard to "Shoot her! That's a direct order!", but the woman's reflexes were faster.

"Too slow!" she snarled, leaning to the side and taking aim. There was a blinding flash before the guard was cast backwards, yowling. He collapsed violently onto Tyler, the two men making a messy pile on the floor.

Standing from his seat in surprise, Miguel cried, " _Ty_!"

"S'matter?" the woman spat, though her tone was somewhat softer now. She was coming closer to the skutter, gun half-raised at her side. "Worried about your boss?"

"Well..." started Miguel, considering. "Actually, N- Hey! _Leggo_!"

The lady had reached out and latched a hand onto his arm, above the wrist. She had quite the grip, perhaps unsurprisingly when Miguel took note of her frame, muscled but taut and thin. It would've been a simple matter for Miguel to pull free or break her hold, but there was one complication in that: the gun nudging against his sternum. For now, complying was in his best interests. Spider-augmented speed or no, there was no dodging a blast at point-blank.

"C'mon, Lemon. We're leaving."

With a hard wrench, the woman got him out of the vehicle. Halfway out, Miguel felt something leave his spinnerets. Some silk silently splattered onto the floor, unbeknownst to anyone but him. Thankfully, the glasses he wore hid the worried widening of his eyes. It was a repeat of the incident with Venture, in which he's first produced webs. _Aw, great! Her squeezing my arm made me squirt webbing on the floor. Please don't look own. Pleeeeaaase don't,_ a mortified Miguel mentally begged.

She was now standing at his side, grasping his shirt and thrusting the gun against his jaw. Some new guards were running their way from multiple directions, but were some distance away. In a high but booming voice, she announced her intentions for anyone who might not have been paying attention. "Nobody try to follow us! Or he gets it!"

As placating as possible, Miguel spread out his arms in a peaceful gesture. He couldn't resist a quick, crisp quip before she walked him away. "I'd really rather you _kept_ it."

"Security, after her! But keep your distance!" Miguel heard an enraged Stone hollering behind him. What he didn't _see_ was Stone trip, shoe stuck to the puddle of webbing...

* * *

 **/**

* * *

He didn't sign on for this shit. Not by a long shot. _Be a scientist, Dad said. It's safe as can be,_ pussy _work, he said..._

"Eyes ahead, pretty boy," the woman growled, nudging him. It was hard to ignore the gun; he was hyperaware of its presence.

 _What a wonderful way to start my first day back_ , bemoaned Miguel. _Not only do I have to tolerate Tyler, but I get to be a hostage victim too. Swell._

There was something strangely and strikingly familiar about his kidnapper. The funny thing was, though, that Miguel was _sure_ he'd never seen her before in his life. At least, not in the flesh. Maybe she was in some of the joint Alchemax-Public Eye fugitive files...? Regardless, it didn't really matter.

To avoid pissing off the gun-wielding woman, Miguel wisely kept his mouth shut. All the while he was keenly conscious of the hand-held weapon digging into his back. One flick or twitch of a finger against the trigger could end his life. Occasionally she alternated to pointing it at his head, which was even more disconcerting. Miguel kept calm, though. He was smart enough to know the best way to save his bacon was to clam up and keep cooperating.

"Resistance seems to have melted away," observed his captor astutely. Indeed, they were the only ones on the lowest level, now. An exit door for deliveries was creeping closer. "You must be _some_ golden boy, lemon. What's your name?"

He complied without a second thought. "Miguel, Miguel O'Hara."

To his surprise, the gun was immediately dropped from his temple, though she still clutched it tightly. Seemingly stunned, the woman said stutteringly, "Mig… O'Hara? You couldn't be related to..."

"Hold it!" he hissed, recognition flashing across his face at last. "In Gabe's holo… that was you! Kasey!"

" _You're_ Gabe's slime-ball brother?!"

"In the slime."

Shock eased both their tongues. Once they were outside she stepped back from him, facing him with her gun hanging upwards in a non-threatening hold. The initial awkwardness and disbelief gave way to calm conversation. Kasey was bitter, but she didn't seem to blame Miguel. Not entirely. "The place you work for was going to "experiment" on me. Bought out by my criminal record," she explained.

"How'd you pick up a record?"

She shrugged. "I spoke up, destroyed some property. These days, destroying the wrong property can be fatal. You _think_ about that." Turning on her heel, Kasey started to run, throwing some parting words over her shoulder. "Think about what your company was going to do to the woman your brother loves. That bring it home for you?"

"Hold it, wait!" he called out, stretching a hand after her. She wouldn't get far without his help, but she also didn't seem interested in stopping. "Incredible," Miguel mused exasperatedly when she nearly disappeared from view. All that was left was a small, retreating silhouette. "Gabe manages to hook up with every loony in the whole shockin' cit-"

No sooner had he spoke, than a corporate agent blew by on an elegant hover vehicle, not unlike the Public Eye's bikes, a sword at the ready by his side. His appearance and Gabriel's description of a similar individual collided in Miguel's memories. Dimly, he registered the samurai speaking. "One side, please," the man said as he passed. "This one does not wish to injure you during pursuit of the escaped felon."

Before Miguel could stop himself, his thoughts were transmitted from his mind to his mouth. "It's him! That nut Gabe was talking about!"

To Miguel's dread, the man heard him and stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, he spared an intense glance over his shoulder, shrewd black eyes piercing Miguel's frame. Voice curious, but deadly quiet, he asked, "Does this one _know_ you, sir?"

So unnerving was the samurai, that Miguel's childhood cowardice rose its head. It was like he was face-to-face with a bully, and all he could do was scramble to conciliate him. He wished he could sink into a crevice, like a rat, or a spider. "Uh... No. No, I... No."

"That is _most_ fortunate," he said, and somehow Miguel believed him wholeheartedly. Satisfied, the samurai took off again, focused entirely on the shrinking speck that was Kasey Nash.

Conflicted feelings clashed inside Miguel from all directions. He remembered his promise, or rather a lack thereof to Gabriel. Simultaneously, he also remembered the last time he'd tangled with a corporate agent, Venture, and how he'd barely escaped that encounter with life and limb. Aw, shock. He was going to catch her, and drag her back to Alchemax, where they'd do who-knows-what to her... _Just like Sims._ Unless Miguel did something, Kasey Nash was as good as dead.

Hardly realizing where he was walking, Miguel wandered into a side-alley. Maybe he could talk to someone. Convince Stone to let her loose. A reality check promptly hit him over the head on that account. _Yeah, sure. After she shot a guard and who knows what else._ But if he did nothing, how could he ever look Gabri in the eyes again? _What was Gabe saying earlier? With great power..._ Gabriel's voice echoed in his ear, as though he were standing right there. - _Comes great responsibility._

"Wrong, completely wrong," Miguel whispered to himself, unconsciously clawing at his shirt in inner agony. "With great power comes great _guilt_."

A Metro Express shipping booth was the perfect place to change. Here, at least, Miguel could expect some privacy and not have to worry about the Public Eye prying. Additionally, it solved the matter of what to do with his clothes. All he had to do was slip in his card, punch in his apartment as the destination, and shove the clothes into the auto-packager. Within three hours, his clothes would be safely delivered to his home. Now he only had to hope that he'd be there to _meet_ them.

Unlike the first time, the costume flowed easily over Miguel's skin as he changed. Even if it was form-fitting, Miguel found it comfortable, sans the awkward protrusions spiked along his forearms. It was like a second skin. He slipped into the suit with the same ease he slipped into his secondary persona. Sliding his mask down, Spider-Man sprang from the shipping kiosk, ready to run to Nash's rescue.

* * *

 **/**

* * *

"Your flight is most irritating, Kasey Nash," said the jackass. Funnily enough, he didn't _sound_ all that irritated. It was more like she was a chore, a stubborn basket of laundry that refused to be folded. "This one has captured you once. Certainly you did not think you would have any greater success in repeated escape attempts."

" _SHOCK YOU_!" she screamed, looking behind her long enough to get a shot in. Life downtown had taught Kasey Nash how to use a gun, and how to be damn good at it. Her aim made its mark at the jackass' chest, but he brushed off the bolt as though he'd brushed away a fly.

"Not a likelihood. This one is 'un-shockable'."

Kasey couldn't comprehend this turn of events. The gun was corps-grade, top of the line. It'd drilled through the guards, but didn't even slow this guy down. Before she could contemplate it, she was forced to throw herself to the side as the jackass zoomed past her, his blade flashing. Next thing she knew, the gun was in pieces at her feet, the jackass making his rounds on her again.

"This one could have just as easily sliced your arm apart, along with your gun, Kasey Nash. _Know_ that."

The only thing Kasey could think to do was run. So that's what she did. She ran like her life depended on it, and indeed, it very much did. By now her lungs were screaming and her muscles ached, but there was nothing else to do. Just when she thought she could feel the jackass' breath on the back of her neck, and when the hum of his cycle was heavy in her ears, he stopped.

Hardly believing her luck, Kasey pushed herself harder, making her legs move faster than they'd ever gone before. It was only when she was somewhat of a safe distance away that she allowed herself a second's rest. Curiosity compelled her to check out what had interfered with the jackass' chase.

A man in a black costume holding his own against her hunter was the last thing she expected to see.

* * *

 **/**

* * *

It didn't take long to find her, what with her pursuer hot on her tail. Miguel was impressed at how far Kasey had got without being recaptured, and on foot no less. Whenever the samurai got close, she evaded him by ducking into frightened crowds or dodging to change directions. Far from being annoyed, the man calmly taunted her from his steed-like vehicle. Miguel didn't hear exactly what was said, but he heard Kasey's response loud and clear. "SHOCK YOU!" she screamed, blasting at him with the gun still in her possession. To both her and Spider-Man's surprise, he deflected it with his gauntlets, like he was shrugging off a slap instead of a bolt.

Miguel took a breath, psyching himself up. _Okay, Miguel. Lead with your head. And that doesn't mean using it for a punching bag. And what_ ever _you do, do it_ before _he nails Kasey and can use her as a hostage or shield._

As the guy was circling around, Miguel caught up by jumping off the building he'd been using for a vantage point. The fabric on his back slowed his descent enough that the drop wasn't deadly. In spite of the cape's assistance, his stomach leapt in his abdomen all the same. He landed in a roll, coming out on all-fours.

So far, he'd generated small globs of webbing, sometimes on command and other times when it was most inopportune. _If I tense my muscles, sustain the pressure... maybe..._

Lifting an arm, Spider-Man aimed and released a long, thick cord of silk. It speared through the air and stuck to the back of the guy's bike, spoiling Miguel's initial sense of triumph. He'd been aiming for _him_ , but only got the bike. But maybe, if he anchored the line, this could work in his favour.

A nearby pillar along a walkway caught Miguel's attention for this purpose. Thinking fast, he stood on the pillar's side. Even now he experienced a sort of muted surprise when his feet stuck to the surface as easily as super glue, toe talons digging in for additional support. He might never get used to that sensation. With a brisk jerk, Miguel wrapped the webline around the top of the pillar to bring the bike to an abrupt halt. The sudden shift in momentum sent the samurai shooting forward off his vehicle.

 _Wow_ , thought Miguel, releasing the webline. _This stuff's_ strong. Out loud, he yelled after Kasey, "Run, lady! Leave him up to me!"

Kasey didn't need any more encouragement. She'd been watching from a ways off, but at hearing Spider-Man's encouraging cry, she took the opportunity to resume running again. Miguel took a certain amount of relief from seeing her leave. Now, he only needed to focus on keeping _himself_ alive. God, Gabe better appreciate this. The bullshit he went through for his brother...

The man flew forward and fell awkwardly, but was on his feet in no time. Even as Spider-Man charged him, the samurai faced him fearlessly, sword raised. While Spider-Man was a silent opponent, the samurai was blustery and direct. He screamed at him, swinging the sword in a dangerous arc. "Who _dares_ interfere with a mission of the Specialist? Speak! Or is your tongue paralyzed with terror?"

Holy cow was this guy hokey. As the katana cut through the air, Spider-Man twisted mid-flip. His legs automatically spread out and tucked towards his body. The sword went whistling by, too close for comfort, sheering off a few strands of Miguel's cape. Saved by his own flexibility, Spider-Man settled to the ground on the other side of the so-called "Specialist". "No..." gritted out Miguel. The Specialist was already turning when Spider-Man scooted backwards on his bum, between his legs. "It's..." He leaned back in a single motion, knees bending, feet aimed at the Specialist's face. A crack rang out as Spider-Man's kick connected. "... ** _Not_**."

Spider-Man observed the Specialist stumble back, breathlessly reeling. Cautious optimism permeated his being, accompanied by a newfound confidence. He was _doing_ it. He could actually take this guy. Shock it, he took _Venture_ , and he was a cyborg. This guy was just meat. Spider-Man crouched, awaiting the Specialist's next move. He didn't have to wait long.

"Hmm. This one knows now," he said, advancing. "He has heard tell of the Spider-Man. How fortunate that your name of battle, at least, is known to this one."

The words went right over Miguel's head. He was in the zone, utterly focused on the fight. Talons scrabbling against the ground, he rushed to meet the Specialist's attack. _Fake to the left and then-_ Like a bullfighter, the Specialist smoothly sidestepped to allow Spider-Man to pass. Using the flat of his forearm, he put him off balance with a sudden strike to Spider-Man's spine.

"It would not be honourable..." The katana slashed at Spider-Man's back, shredding more of his cape. The skin was spared by the UMF, but Spider-Man still felt the starts of an upcoming bruise from the cut. "...To kill a man..." Just as he cried out, the Specialist drove all five folded fingers into his cheek. "Who is anonymous." More knuckles barrelled into him from above. His vision strobed white and then black. Spider-Man went down, just in time for the Specialist to scoop him up by the light byte cloth that was his cape. He lifted his limp quarry, speaking in a sneer.

"However, a man of honour does not hide his identity. This one will make you into an honourable man by removing that mask. Once this one has seen the face of his enemy, he may then kill him in a manner befitting a warrior."

* * *

 **End of Chapter**

 ***SPOILERS* I saw Into the Spider-Verse with my lil' bro when it came out, and as bad as it sounds, and as much as we loved it, we're honestly more excited for the Miguel-centric sequel they teased with that end credits scene HAHA. My soooonn. Lylaaaa. Perfect voices, too. I'm in this fic for the long haul, and when I eventually run out of comic stories to cover/adapt, or ones I have planned, I want to venture into spider-verse territory. Maybe make it more movie inspired than Dan Slott's version eugh.  
**

 **Thanks to the few people who reviewed last chapter ily.**


End file.
